New Year
by slim95
Summary: After Robin returns from the dead, Robert and Anna are drawn back together by an unexpected New Year's celebration and a cold case that mirrors the events of their lives.
1. Chapter 1

She was sitting at the table, head leaned heavily on hand, nursing a club soda and looking perfectly miserable. No, not perfectly miserable—he'd seen her look perfectly miserable before, and there wasn't so much strength of emotion there now. She looked tired, disappointed, lonely, sad, but also somehow numb, careless, unconcerned about what had happened or what might happen. He wondered how Lavery could leave her sitting alone on this night of all nights, especially after everything they'd been through the past year. The smarmy bastard should be thanking the gods for a second, third, fourth, whatever-it-was chance with her and a new start instead of swanning off doing errands for his mysterious new business partner. Robert had overheard part of their conversation as he lingered, perhaps unnecessarily long, just around the corner from their table after ducking outside to the quiet hallway to phone and wish Robin a Happy New Year. Duke had been called away and was apologizing. He likely wouldn't make it back to the Port Charles Hotel lounge before midnight, and he didn't want Anna to wait there for him. He'd call her in the morning.

"Slim looks older somehow," Luke commented, noticing Robert's gaze. "She almost looks her age. Okay, five years younger than her age, but still older. Never thought that would happen. It sucks to be alone on New Year's Eve."

"You were alone on New Year's Eve before I joined you," Robert observed.

Luke lifted his drink and shook his head. "Only temporarily. Spanky will be here any minute. I've got someone to celebrate with at midnight, if you know what I mean—unlike poor Slim, and unlike you, you miserable son of a bitch."

"Who says?" Robert asked in mock-indignation. He smiled at Luke, lifted his martini glass to his mouth, and took a sip, pursing his lips in a chaste kiss that quickly turned lascivious with an unsubtle eye roll, tongue waggle under and around the rim, noisy gargle, and audible swallow. Luke turned away in disgust. "Thanks, old pal. I won't soon scour that image from my brain. Christ, Robert, do us both a favour and go keep someone else company."

Looking over at Anna, who seemed just about ready to leave, Luke smiled. "I've got an idea. Why don't you see if Wonder Woman is desperate enough to let you prop your miserable, alcohol-soaked carcass up against her table? Maybe you can drown your sorrows together."

Robert froze while lifting his glass and held it suspended in air two inches from his mouth, deciding. Then he put down the glass, gave a subtle wave of his arm to a passing waiter, and smiled. "A bottle of your middling bubbly, please. Send it to the lovely, sad-looking lady at the table across the way. One glass for her, one for me—but bring mine over here. I don't want to look too cocky. I'll carry it over with me like a begging bowl."

* * *

><p>Anna sucked the last of her club soda from the bottom of the glass with her awkwardly short stir-stick-straw. There was no way to look elegant using such a thing, not that she cared. All she wanted was an early night. Maybe she'd finish her book; maybe she'd watch a film on television. Then bed and sleep, long before midnight. Good riddance to an exhausting year.<p>

A smiling waiter approached with a bucket of ice and bottle of champagne. "Ms. Devane—compliments of a gentleman at the bar."

Anna looked over, nonplussed. Earlier in the evening she'd noticed Robert and Luke drinking together and (she was certain) trading insults. She didn't like to contemplate them ganging up, what they might be thinking and saying about her as she sat so conspicuously alone. She was certain which of the two had sent over the champagne. Luke would have sent scotch. And a single drink. Nothing so extravagant.

"My thanks to you and to the gentleman, but I was just about to leave. You can return the bottle and save my friend the cost. Good night."

The waiter smiled again. "The gentleman suspected you would refuse the gift, and so he instructed me to open the bottle immediately. I hope you understand—the tip was quite generous."

Anna muttered, "It always is."

As the waiter smoothly twisted out the cork, he continued, his tone apologetic. "He also asked me to tell you that if you leave, he'll be forced to drink the entire bottle alone, which he didn't think you'd want. He said something about a scheduled brunch with your daughter tomorrow morning. He doesn't want to show up feeling unwell."

The waiter smoothly filled Anna's glass. She frowned. "Apparently he's not concerned if I'm 'unwell' around my daughter and granddaughter."

Robert spoke from behind her right shoulder. She hadn't noticed him leave the bar. "Not true, Sweetheart. I'm here to make sure you don't wallow in sorrow tonight or feel too much pain tomorrow." He presented his glass to the waiter. "Garcon, fill-'er-up!"

The waiter was gone. Robert sat smiling across from her; Anna sat scowling back at him. "Come on, Devane," he spoke brightly, "turn that frown upside down."

"God, Robert, I love you but you can be so annoying," she muttered. "Are you the reconnaissance party? Will Luke be joining us to ruin my evening further?"

"Nah. You've got me to yourself." He smiled even wider.

She smiled back without humour. "Translation: he didn't want your company tonight either."

Robert shrugged. "Three's a crowd. Tracy's joining him. And since one is the loneliest number, I'm over here. I'm offering to make up a 'deux' with 'vous'."

"Robert, please don't try to speak French," she pleaded. "More importantly, please, please, please go away. I'm really not in the mood."

He placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. "Sunshine, for the life of me I can't understand why you look so—I don't even know how to describe it—flat. Lifeless. Joyless. Serious. And why you've looked like this for weeks. For god's sake: it's New Year's Eve, and you've got so much to be grateful for, so much to feel energized by and downright giddy about."

Anna stared back. "Yeah, you're right, it's so peculiar that I'm not dancing on the table right now hooting and hollering. Let's see, for the last two years I thought my daughter was dead, I've been pursued—for the umpteenth time, I might add—by a psychopath; and now there's a violent mob war brewing, at the centre of which is a crime family that terrorized _my_ family for years."

Robert leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. "That mob-war thing will be a piece of cake. No problem."

Anna pursed her lips. "Spoken like the former, not current, police commissioner of Port Charles."

He continued. "And anyway, why not focus on the positive? Yes, we thought our daughter was dead, but she came back to us. We have another chance. The psychopath has been neutralized. You've got an exciting professional challenge to look forward to this year. And on top of all this, you have one ex-husband back from the dead, another—let's be honest, your favorite—back from near death, feeling and looking better than he ever did. What more could you want?"

Anna looked at him significantly. He smiled at her again. She relented, though only partly, taking the full glass of champagne up from the table and lifting it in a toast. "You're right," she admitted. "Things aren't all bad. I never used to be so ungrateful. I don't know what's happened to me. Age I suppose."

Robert lifted his own glass; they touched rims lightly and sipped. "You've just had the wind knocked out of you. It's understandable. But you've got to find your way back to yourself, Luv. The Anna I knew was joyful and playful." Anna smiled slightly. Robert smiled back. "That's better," he spoke brightly. "Now, if you'll let me party with you girlie, we can try to recapture some of what we had before everything went to hell."


	2. Chapter 2

They were now well into their second bottle. So much for avoiding a hang-over. Anna was feeling very warm, and very, very content. Yet she was surprised when she broke out in a real, honest-to-god laugh at something Robert said.

"You know," she turned momentarily serious and confessed, "I think part of me feels guilty for feeling happy." She was leaned over the table, obviously comfortable and relaxed. "So many horrible and ridiculous things have happened I feel like I should be in a state of perpetual mourning. Robin, Duke, Faison, Obrecht, you in your coma. I feel like it's wrong to forget."

Robert had a dreamy smile on his lips, his eyes half closed with pleasure. "You have to think about it differently. According to my friend Jean-Paul Sartre, JP for short, one can respond in the face of absurdity with either laughter or nausea. How about we laugh tonight and leave the other bit 'til tomorrow morning? May I fill your glass again?"

Anna sat up with a bit of a wobble and stared at him. "Jean-Paul Sartre. I didn't think you read anyone, except maybe Ian Fleming."

Robert, somewhat clumsily, was pouring more champagne for both of them. He was also shaking his head. "Now why on earth would I read his books when high-quality films have been made of every one of Mr. Fleming's masterpieces?"

Anna puckered her lips and frowned. "Robert, the Bond books are silly and sexist enough, but the films—good god. The novels at least are more complex, and are certainly interesting as cultural products of the cold war . . ."

Robert laughed as he put down the champagne bottle. "Okay, okay—that's the right answer. But admit it: you'd rather watch thirty seconds of Daniel Craig rising half-naked from the ocean than appreciate the complexity of Mr. Fleming's endless descriptions of the game of baccarat and how the act of stirring bruises vodka."

Anna's expression turned affectionate and proud. "Oh, Robert, you have read the books. That's sweet, and very literary of you." She grabbed her glass just slightly inelegantly. "And I have to admit you've got me there: damn straight I'd rather watch a good-looking man rising up from the sea than sit alone in a chair reading about spies and villains you'd think were so over-the-top they couldn't be real, but actually, from the experience our lives, seem pretty tame." As soon as she'd finished speaking, a sudden, clear vision of another man, another ocean, another time, rose up before her and she felt her face flush. As if to cover, she smiled too broadly, laughed a bit too loudly, and gulped down her entire drink.

Robert laughed too, followed her example, carefully replaced his own glass on the table, and then took hers and did the same. "Now I think it's time we got up and did some moving, Devane. You mentioned something earlier about dancing on the table and hooting and hollering. Let's the two of us start on the dance floor and see what the night brings."

He got up, moved just a tiny bit unsteadily to her side, gave a little bow, and lifted her to her feet. She curtsied, laughing, and they made their way to the crowded dance floor. There they assumed the position, easy and familiar despite the years. They hadn't danced since Robin's wedding, a time that had seemed full of promise and potential. Anna _had_ been giddy with happiness then, her granddaughter safely delivered, her daughter recovered and married, and Robert officially declared cancer-free. But Robert and she had parted ways again, drawn apart by obligations and, certainly, by fear. Although the threat of death and of final, too-soon goodbyes had briefly brought them together, fear of life and old resentments had driven them back to their safely separate lives.

"Feels good," murmured Robert as they swayed, mostly in time to the music. "You were always my favorite dance partner. You seemed to know where I wanted to go, what I wanted to do."

Anna leaned her head on Robert sleepily. "Don't give me too much credit, Robert. Where you wanted to go and what you wanted to do were always pretty obvious. No one could accuse you of being subtle. Any woman who didn't pick up on either would have to be brain dead or in deep denial."

Robert lowered his head and they laughed into each other's shoulders as he twirled her around the floor.

* * *

><p>They didn't notice the approach of midnight, too absorbed in their conversation and dancing. When the others suddenly stopped and prepared themselves for the final countdown, Robert and Anna kept moving and talking until they bumped into a man and woman staring up at the clock. "Ten, nine"—Anna smiled with sudden comprehension—"eight, seven"—Robert laughed—"six, five"—their smiles became just a bit strained as both suddenly wondered what the appropriate action might be to take—"four, three"—Robert's expression softened with sudden decision—"two, one, Happy New Year!"—he smiled and leaned in to kiss Anna gently, joyfully, on the lips. They separated for a moment. He smiled again, whispered, "Happy New Year, Luv," and kissed her once more, and longer.<p>

* * *

><p>He saw her home which, he explained, was the gallant thing to do. Of course the police commissioner didn't need protecting. She was packing heat. Yes, he was staying just upstairs in his suite at the Port Charles Hotel. But he could use some fresh air, and the walk to the Metro Court would do him good. Besides, they were having such a nice time. It would be a pity to cut it short. So they walked together, insulated from the cold by the champagne and by the simple pleasure of each other's company, along the waterfront past favourite haunts changed very little by the passage of time. Anna hung on his arm, almost her old self, more like the woman he had known twenty years before, before everything changed, before everything literally and figuratively had shattered.<p>

"You keep tugging on my arm like that and you'll dislocate my shoulder," Robert joked, honestly loving the familiar weight. She laughed. "I didn't realize you were so frail, old man. I'll try to be more careful."

They reached a particularly scenic and memorable spot and stopped walking at the same time. They looked out at the water. Nothing needed to be said. They were comfortable together in their silence.

* * *

><p>Anna was rummaging through her bag for her keys. "Damn it," she said. "I know they're in here somewhere. My eyes are a bit out of focus. Don't know why."<p>

Robert said nothing, just waited. Finally the keys were retrieved. "Success!" Anna exclaimed, waving the keys in triumph, and turned to unlock the door. But she hesitated before opening it and turned back. "Robert," she began, "thank you. For rescuing me tonight, for saving me from myself. I appreciate it. You were right to call me out on my horrible self-indulgence. And—I had a lovely time. " He smiled again but didn't speak, looked down, and then looked back into her eyes. They stood looking at each other for a moment. Then she swayed slightly, hesitantly took a step toward him, was about to lean into him again, her face turned up for a kiss, when the door behind her suddenly swung open.

"Anna? Where have you been? I was worried."

It was Duke, waiting for her in her suite. The thought annoyed her, she realized. Anna paused, looked away, gave Robert a quick peck on the cheek, took a breath, and turned around. "I didn't think you'd be here—you made it sound as though you'd be busy all night. Happy New Year." And she kissed Duke quickly on the cheek as well.

Duke looked over her shoulder at Scorpio, obviously not happy. "Hello, Robert. Did you keep Anna company tonight? That's very generous of you." Duke smiled grimly. "I appreciate you filling in for me, but I'm free now, and I was hoping Anna and I could celebrate the New Year together. I ordered champagne."

Anna smiled, made a bit of a face, and then touched Duke's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Darling, I've already had far too much champagne. I'm completely exhausted, and I just want a quick shower and to go to sleep. Could we celebrate another time?" Anna swayed unsteadily. "Oh God, I think I need to drink some water. Maybe it would be better if you went back to your own suite tonight. I'll phone you in the morning." She half turned. "Thank you again, Robert. Thanks for a lovely evening."

She pushed past Duke into the room without looking back, leaving the two men staring at each other through the open doorway.

Robert smiled apologetically, turned, and walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

Anna slowly woke the next morning from a completely inappropriate and improbable dream. She willed her way out of it only to surface into a pounding headache and roiling stomach. "Damn you Robert," she cursed, blaming him for both dream and hangover. She winced at the clock. She had an hour to feel human and to make her way to Kelly's to meet Robin, Patrick, and Emma. And Robert.

After her shower she felt slightly better. "Just coffee, no food," she promised herself. "I can manage that. Sure. No worries." Anna peered at her reflection in the mirror. "I'm getting too old to be doing this kind of thing," she thought. And then, in spite of herself, she broke into a broad grin at the memory. She coughed, and frowned slightly. Time for some damage control.

By the time she reached Kelly's, everyone else was there waiting. The only empty seat was next to Robert; Robin, Patrick, and Emma were huddled together on the opposite side of the table, laughing, touching. Robert saw Anna first and smiled, said nothing. Robin noticed her father's glance up and sprang up from her chair. "Happy New Year, Mom!" They hugged. "You look fabulous! Is that a new jacket? That colour's terrific on you."

"No, no," Anna looked embarrassed; "this isn't new, I've had it for a while. I guess you just haven't seen it. It's nothing special."

Robin peered into her face. "Ah, but your eyes look a bit tired. Did Uncle Duke take you someplace nice last night? Did you have fun ringing in the New Year?"

Anna glanced over at Robert. "No. Duke was called away. We couldn't celebrate together."

Robin frowned. "You should have called me. Patrick, Emma and I would have loved to have you join us."

Anna smiled and hugged her daughter. "It turned out alright. You needn't worry about me. I had a lovely evening anyway."

Robert finally spoke. "How about sitting down now so we can order? I'm famished."

Anna looked at him and raised her eyebrows in question. Her stomach gave a little lurch. How in god's name could he be hungry? She sat down.

But after two cups of coffee, which cleared her head quite nicely, she found the smell of eggs and bacon more and more appealing. Robert, tucked in, noticed her eyeing his plate. He paused and looked up at her. "You want something?"

Anna clutched her mug in her hands. "No, no. Looks good, though. Hmm."

Robert held his fork suspended between plate and mouth. "You did have a chance to order something for yourself earlier. You said you couldn't possibly manage. For some reason you didn't elaborate on." Slight smile.

Anna was looking at his bacon. "Well, I wasn't hungry then. I guess I'm getting my appetite back. It's okay—I have a protein bar in my glove compartment."

Robert stared at her, sighed, put down his fork, and handed her a piece of bacon. "Don't be a martyr. Eat the damn thing. I'm pretty sure you've already sinned in thought. Why not follow it up with the action?"

* * *

><p>Robin and Patrick chatted happily through the meal. She asked questions about what had happened since she'd "died," restricting her inquiries to subjects trivial and salacious—who was seeing whom now, who had separated, who had come to town, who had left. Occasionally Robin placed her hands over Emma's ears, but the little girl was generally too absorbed in her chocolate chip pancakes and in Robert's strategic distractions to notice what her parents were talking about. Anna tried to occupy the conversational space between the two groups, enjoying both but staying largely silent. "Sam is Julian Jerome's daughter, and she's dating Ava Jerome's ex?" "You had a pet platypus, grandpa? What was his name?" "That's nothing – Carly Jacks is dating a serial killer." "His name was Reginald. At least it was until he laid an egg. Then it was Regina."<p>

Anna glanced at her watch. It was late; she should leave for the station. "I'm very sorry to say this," she announced, first looking at Emma, then Robin and Patrick, and avoiding Robert's eye, "but I need to get to work. It's been lovely to see you all this morning, and I wish you all the very best New Year." She stood up and planted kisses on the top of Emma's head, on Patrick's cheek, and on her daughter's lips.

Robert spread out his hands. "How about a kiss for grandpa?" Emma laughed.

Anna smiled. "Emma will give you one for me, won't you Emma?" And Emma did.

Anna put on her jacket and slung her bag over her shoulder. Robert got up. "Time for me to go as well," he announced.

"Don't leave on my account, Robert," Anna protested.

"Of course I'm not," he answered. "I have somewhere to be. But before I go I thought I'd bend your ear about something. I'll walk you to your car."

After they left, Robin looked at Patrick with eyes narrowed and the hint of a smile on her lips. "Something's going on," she said. "I don't know what it is. But I've developed a sixth-sense for these things. Dad's up to something."

* * *

><p>Anna had pulled out her keys. "My car isn't very far, Robert, so you have less than a minute to ask me what you want to ask. Be quick."<p>

Robert was wearing a leather jacket and jeans. He'd always looked good in both, she'd thought. But why was she thinking it again just now?

"Won't take long, Sweetheart. Just one question." Robert paused for effect. "Who is Duke working for now?"

Anna stopped. She'd wondered about this as well but hadn't pressed. She considered telling Robert to mind his own business, but found she didn't want him to, and actually didn't mind him minding her business. She was tired of worrying and wondering on her own, and sighed. "I don't know, Robert. He hasn't told me and I haven't asked. He says he's working as a consultant for someone who's planning on opening a club. That's why he had to leave last night – he was called away to look at a prospective venue somewhere over in the warehouse district."

Robert cocked his head to one side and looked at her. "Doesn't it strike you as odd that he'd do that on New Year's Eve? Was he meeting an agent?"

Anna looked down. "I have no idea, Robert. I don't know how matters of real estate are handled. I've been a spy, a fence, and a cop. That's the extent of my job experience."

Robert pressed. "So how did he get this job? Do you remember him scouring the want ads?"

Anna laughed. "I think that's a bit old-fashioned. He's not washing dishes; the type of work he's doing isn't advertised in newspapers."

"Could he be involved in this Jerome business? Has the possibility crossed your mind?"

She thought for a moment before answering. "I know he wouldn't work _for_ the Jeromes, so you needn't worry about that. If anything he'd be tempted to work against them." Her expression became more serious. "I warned him off. I told him to leave it alone, that I would take care of everything. I can only assume he's taken my advice."

"And what if he hasn't?" Robert asked. "What if he's back in the game in some way?"

Anna smiled grimly and shook her head. "He'd be courting jail time at best, death at worst. I hope he's not, because I want to trust him. And he should trust and respect me." With that she turned away, got into her car, and drove off.

Robert stared after her and wondered where Lavery was right then. He had a hunch he was up to no good. Robert's sense for this kind of thing was usually pretty accurate, but he had to admit that his judgement in this case might be off. It could be selfish, wishful thinking that Lavery's incarceration in the Turkish prison hadn't taught him a blessed thing and that, after all these years, he was still an idiot.

* * *

><p>In fact, at that moment Duke was standing mere blocks away, gazing out at the water. He looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching. It was Sonny Corinthos, looking to all the world like the mob boss he was, hair slicked back, black trench coat, hands in pockets, cocky swagger. Duke decided they'd better make this quick—he wanted no one to see them together.<p>

Sonny spoke first. "You should know that Alexis has finalized the legal details for the club. The space is rented, business licenses have been applied for and approved. We're almost ready. Julian is sure to start sniffing around soon."

Duke stared straight ahead and nodded. "I'm ready when you are. I understand that the arrangements have to be familiar to tweak Julian's interest. But you have to be aware that this will set off alarm bells for Anna as well. She's seen this all before, in case you've forgotten."

"Any new developments on the home front?" Sonny asked. "Anything you need to apprise me of relating to the PCPD?"

Duke grimaced. He'd didn't like betraying Anna in this way, but he had no choice. He had to protect her. "The Port Charles Police Department is still gathering information about the Jeromes, and about you. As far as I can glean, there are no plans to move—yet. They suspect you and Julian were at the warehouse during the shoot-out. But that's all I know. Anna is generally tight-lipped about her cases."

Sonny wasn't pleased. "Your job is to get her to confide in you, Lavery. I appreciate the inside information you've offered me on the Jeromes, but unfortunately it's more than twenty years old. If we're going to take them down, we need them to think you and I are in business together, and we need to make sure we've got the time and opportunity to trip them up. We have neither if the police interfere. We have to keep that from happening."

Duke's shoulders tensed. "Believe me, I want to keep Anna from going after the Jeromes. I want to keep her out of danger. But the woman has a mind of her own, and she's suspicious by nature and by training. I have to be subtle."

Sonny looked at him for a moment and shrugged his shoulders. "Your woman, your problem. Figure it out. Otherwise you're useless to me. A warning: in that case, the pleasure of destroying Julian and Ava will be all mine. I'll cut you out. Remember that. You're not fooling me. This isn't just about protecting Anna. This is about revenge."

Sonny walked away. And Duke realized just how badly he wanted to make Julian suffer.


	4. Chapter 4

Anna was at her desk, staring at an open file. A cold case—a person who'd gone missing years before, during Mac's tenure as police commissioner. She noted the date: March 1998. When the woman had disappeared, Anna was missing too, missing from her daughter's life and from her own life, from herself. She hadn't yet remembered who she was after the explosion on the boat. Anna stared at the woman's photo. "I came back," she thought to herself. "At least most of the way. I was lucky."

The phone rang. "Commissioner Devane? Duke Lavery to see you."

Anna continued looking at the picture. The woman looked back. "Send him in," she ordered, and hung up. In the photograph, which had faded and curled slightly, the missing woman was standing next to an attractive man. They were both smiling and laughing. The picture must have been taken on vacation. Anna quickly leafed through the pages of the file. The man was her common-law husband. He'd been cleared as a suspect. For some reason Anna was relieved. And for some still more inexplicable reason, she started to cry.

She shut the file and impatiently wiped the corners of her eyes with her hands. The office door opened.

"Anna." Duke smiled and strode over to her desk. She stood and kissed him quickly, again on the cheek. She noted her action and wondered at it. What on earth was going on?

He noticed it too and frowned. "You'll have to do better than that, Commissioner Devane, or I'll have to rethink my plan to invite you to lunch."

Anna smiled and kissed him again, this time on the lips and with more affection. "Sorry—busy and distracted. You know I love you."

Duke was satisfied. "Nicely saved. Feel like Vietnamese or Italian?"

Anna smiled apologetically. "Neither, I'm afraid. I had brunch with the family this morning—remember? I couldn't eat at thing." She put a hand to her stomach and dramatically rolled her eyes. "And I'm still suffering slightly from last night. All I really need for the rest of the day is coffee, aspirin, and water."

Duke frowned. "Yes, about last night—what exactly happened?"

Anna shook her head. "Mr. Lavery, I owe you no explanations. You're the one who stood me up, remember? If you don't want me hung-over in future, don't leave me vulnerable and alone." She laughed and sat back down at her desk. "If you're curious, you can ask anyone at the Port Charles Hotel lounge what transpired. Robert and I shared too much champagne and then danced for a bit. He walked me home. It was nice. You have nothing to be upset about—in fact you owe him. By offering himself as a distraction he prevented me from becoming very annoyed at you."

Duke forced a smile. "Good old Robert." He sighed. "So I can't convince you to take a break and keep me company for lunch?"

Anna shrugged and lifted her eyebrows apologetically. "Sorry. Another rain cheque I'm afraid. There's something here I really want to work on."

"You know, if you ever need a sounding board, I'm happy to help." Duke looked at her hopefully.

She shook her head. "No, it's nothing you can help me with." She hesitated, but then continued. "Duke, you are staying away from Julian, aren't you? I don't have to worry that you're involved in the mess that's brewing right now.

Duke smiled back at her. "Of course I'm out of it, Anna. I promised you. That's all over." He brightened. "In fact, I have good news: we've finalized a location for the club and have our business license. Things are progressing very nicely. Our contractor's ready to go; the space needs minimal renovation. We may even start hiring staff by the end of the month."

Anna wondered at the speed. Something seemed off. But she smiled anyway. "That's fabulous. I know you've felt a bit at loose ends lately. I'm glad this venture is working out for you so far."

He leaned across her desk and kissed her goodbye. "I'll see you at your place later?" he asked.

"Of course," she answered; "where else would I be? But I might be a bit late. I want to catch-up from the holidays."

Duke turned and left. Anna went back to the file.

* * *

><p>Three hours later, returning to the office after a meeting, she found Robert seated in the corner sipping a Kelly's coffee. She saw another cup on her desk next to a small paper bag. "Who let you in, and how long have you been here?" she asked. Robert replied, "The desk sergeant remembers me, and no more than five minutes. The coffee should still be hot. And there's something in the bag for you. I figured you'd be hungry by now."<p>

Anna was hungry. She walked over and sat down, pulled out a sandwich, and took a bite. "God bless you, Robert. It's been a strange day. I'm feeling out of sorts."

"The hangover?" he asked.

Anna chewed thoughtfully. "No. No, it's partly this Jerome business, and partly a cold case that's affected me for some reason." She put down her sandwich. "I'm feeling a bit paralyzed at the moment. I'm not sure what my next moves should be on either front."

Robert looked at her, serious. "This indecision doesn't have something to do with our handling of Faison, does it?"

Anna shook her head. "No. I don't think it does. I'm not second-guessing myself. Justice was served. I have absolutely no qualms about the action we took. It's more that I'm feeling vaguely haunted. Like someone's walking over my grave. Like _I'm_ walking over my own grave. I don't know how else to explain it."

Robert stood and rolled his chair up to the desk. "Why are you working on a cold case? You don't have enough on your plate right now?"

Anna slumped her shoulders dramatically and sighed. "The cold case wasn't my idea. DA Baldwin handed a directive to the PCPD, part of his desperate attempt to rehabilitate his image after the A.J. Quartermaine murder trial debacle. He wants us to look again at every unsolved violent crime—or crime potentially involving violence—back to 1960. We've divvied up the fifteen cases we found."

"Okay," Robert replied. "But you're the police commissioner. Why did you take on one of the cases? Can't you assign it to someone else? I should think you're busy enough."

Anna narrowed her eyes. "I wanted to take it. For personal reasons."

Robert narrowed his in turn. "So what's the case? Can you share any details?"

Anna hesitated. "I could if I could bring you in on it in some kind of official capacity. What's your work status right now?"

Robert shrugged. "Inactive. I've been told in no uncertain terms that I won't be considered fit for field duty until I clear a medical in six months time. I'm pretty sure I'm free to contract out my services. I could come on as a consultant."

Anna smiled. "Then consider yourself hired." She turned the file around and slid it across the desk. "I'll speak to HR tomorrow. In the meantime, let me know what you think."

Robert read while Anna ate; when she was finished her sandwich, she sipped her coffee and stared at him as he continued poring over the file. When he finished, he looked up at her uncomfortably and cleared his throat.

"Well, I understand why you feel like a ghost is walking over your grave. There are certain similarities—certain characteristics of the case that seem familiar."

Anna was still. "Yes, I thought that as well."

"At first the police suspected the husband, but later they concluded that she'd vanished on her own—that she'd left him, that she probably had another lover." Robert and Anna looked at each other, acknowledging the moment. "But the husband protested. He insisted that they were happy and that she would never have done such a thing."

Anna spoke softly. "I'm inclined to believe his version of events. Aren't you?"

Robert closed the file. "I might be. But not for the right reasons. I'll try to reserve final judgement until I speak to him."

* * *

><p>Robert's offer to help gave Anna the sense of peace she needed to leave the office at a decent hour. She knew she should call Duke and try to meet up with him; she needed to honour her promise. So she called, and he of course was delighted. They would meet at the Metro Court for their delayed New Year's drink. He would meet her at 8:00.<p>

She got to the table first; he arrived only a few minutes later; drinks were ordered and appetizers were being considered when Duke's phone rang. Anna asked him not to answer but he did, and then excuses were made. He kissed her goodbye, asked if he could come by her suite later, once his business was finished, and she in irritation told him no, that she would be having an early night. He left, and Anna slumped over the table. Suddenly she felt very tired and wanted nothing more than her bed.

She hadn't noticed Shawn, Sonny's henchman, sitting up at the bar observing her and Duke at their table. She hadn't noticed him make a call minutes before Duke's cell phone rang. She didn't draw any logical connection between the two events. She should have.

While all of this was happening, Robert sat alone in his room at the Port Charles Hotel. He went through the cold case file over and over. Each time he reached the final page he took a shot of scotch from a bottle Luke had given him for Christmas. It was a kind of punctuation, a kind of line under. Then he would start all over again.


	5. Chapter 5

Four days later, a Sunday, Anna and Robin were enjoying the afternoon in each other's company. Anna mentally noted how long it had been since they had acted like mother and daughter, marvelled at the fact that they could now spend time together just chatting and laughing, doing something so trivial as window shopping. Anna had made Robin blush by dragging her into a lingerie shop, and Robin had made Anna blush by pointing out a black slip very much like one she remembered seeing carelessly cast to the floor of Anna's bedroom (along with a man's white dress shirt) the morning after a particularly significant Valentine's Day. "I'm not much for slips and stockings anymore," Anna confessed, laughing. "Dress pants and sensible shoes. No fancy gowns or get-ups for me."

Robin then pointed to an obscene baby-doll nightie in a complicated tartan. "I wonder if this is the clan Lavery tartan? Should you buy it and ask Uncle Duke?"

Anna frowned. "I wouldn't be caught dead in something as repulsive as that."

Robin laughed, put her arm through Anna's, and led her out of the store. "Mom, I think it's time for tea and a serious conversation."

Twenty minutes later, at a corner table in a cafe they'd discovered years before and which had quickly become a favourite, Anna was pouring tea for the two of them from an exquisite porcelain pot. Steam rose from their delicate cups; Anna leaned over, closed her eyes, and breathed in the fragrance. She opened her eyes again. "I'm in heaven."

Robin snorted. "All it takes is tea?"

Anna smiled. "And the company of my beloved daughter."

Robin pulled in her chin and smirked. "You might not think so warmly of me once I start asking you what I want to."

The corners of Anna's mouth fell. "Oh dear. This sounds serious."

Robin propped her elbows on the table knowing it would slightly irk her mother. "So, what's going on with you and Duke? Patrick and I have noticed that we barely see you together. I thought you two were trying to work things out?"

Anna sighed. "Circumstances seem to be conspiring against us. Every time we try to meet for dinner or drinks or coffee or anything something comes up. He's very busy organizing the opening of this new club."

Robin squinted. "And how does that make you feel?"

Anna cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think you were that kind of doctor." Robin raised her eyebrows in response and waited for an answer. Anna sighed. "Honestly? Irritated. Abandoned. Neglected." She paused, thought, and decided to be honest. "And also strangely relieved. It's not easy resurrecting a relationship. We're still quite awkward with each other, too polite, too careful. We tiptoe around each other."

Robin nodded her head. "I understand that. Patrick and I felt the same way when I first came home. But the feeling went away pretty quickly. What's the obstacle between you and Duke? What's keeping you from feeling more comfortable together?"

Anna wasn't sure what to answer. She only knew that Duke and she had been slightly more natural in each other's company before Robert had woken from his coma and before the final confrontation with Faison. Of course she couldn't say anything about this to her daughter.

But then Robin asked, "Is it Dad? Is he the problem?"

Anna looked up, considered what to answer, and nervously bit her lip—an obvious "tell" that Robin had seen many times before.

"It _is_ Dad. What's he done now?" she asked, half-smiling.

* * *

><p>Across town, Robert was waiting alone at his own corner table, this one in an almost-abandoned sports bar not far from the waterfront and warehouse districts. He'd arranged to meet the missing woman's partner there—Carolyn Thompson's partner. He needed to use her name as often as possible, to remind himself the exercise wasn't academic, but also to remind himself that this woman was not Anna. He had to think about her as someone different, someone distinct, someone similar to but not his own wife. He had to stay focused and unbiased. He suspected it wouldn't be easy.<p>

A man in his mid-fifties stepped into the bar and stopped, hesitated, looked around nervously. This was the guy. Robert lifted his hand to wave. The man noticed him, still hesitated, but then slowly walked up to the table.

"Agent Scorpio?" he asked.

"Yes," Robert replied. "Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Corbett. I appreciate that this is difficult for you."

"Stephen, please. I have to admit I was surprised when you contacted me. I didn't think anyone was still looking into Carolyn's disappearance. It's been sixteen years."

Robert motioned for the man to sit down. "And please, call me Robert. Would you like a drink?" The man shook his head. "Are you sure? To take the edge off?"

The man shook his head again. "I can't touch the stuff anymore. To be honest, I relied on it a bit too much after Carolyn disappeared. I had to learn to live with the edge, I'm afraid. I'll be fine."

Robert nodded in acknowledgement. "Stephen, I just want to review some of the basic points of the case with you again, partly to get things straight in my head, partly in the hope that we might uncover some new detail that might help us redirect our investigation. I'm working as a consultant for police commissioner Devane, who's been directed by the DA to reopen cases previously tagged as high priority but, for various reasons, suspended."

Stephen smiled, his eyes flat. "In other words abandoned. Look, I don't blame the police. There were no leads. There was no evidence. She just went out one day and never came back. How do you make sense of that? I understand why the police concluded she'd left on her own. There was nothing to suggest otherwise. But there was nothing to suggest she did, either. And I know she didn't."

Robert waited a moment before replying. "Maybe we can come up with something new if we revisit the events of the day one more time. Maybe with distance . . ."

Stephen shook his head. "What distance? I still have nightmares about that day, still think about it obsessively. Robert, I can offer to go over what happened when Carolyn disappeared but I can't offer you any kind of detachment or objectivity."

Robert folded his hands. "Fair enough. Then what do you remember about the morning of February 20?"

Stephen looked down at the table. "Carolyn got up at 6:00 a.m., as usual, and got ready to go to work. She taught high school math and science. I remember that she had an early meeting so she was out the door by 7:00. I didn't hear from her again until just after lunch."

All of this information was in the file. Robert continued. "What did you do that morning?"

Stephen looked up. "I was at work. I got into the office at 8:00, as usual, was at my desk until 12:00, as usual. I bought my lunch at a food truck outside my building, as usual, and was working again at 1:00. I left the office at 5:00. The detectives working the case all those years ago checked out my story; my colleagues corroborated it. Nothing eventful happened all day."

"When Carolyn called you after lunch," Robert asked, "what did you talk about?"

Stephen's expression became pained. "She told me she hadn't been feeling well. I asked her if I could pick something up for her on the way home. She said no. That was the last time I spoke to her."

"When did you begin to suspect that something was wrong?"

Stephen clenched his fists on the table. "She often didn't get home until after I did—she would stay to finish marking or class prep. I wasn't alarmed when she wasn't home at 6:00, 6:30. But after that I was sure something was wrong. She would've phoned to tell me she'd be late. But she didn't. By 9:00 I was calling all of our neighbours and friends, trying to find her. She didn't have a cell phone, so I couldn't try to contact her that way. At 11:00 I phoned the police but was told I'd need to wait to report her missing."

Robert thought again about the file. "According to the lead detective, Carolyn was overheard talking on the phone during her afternoon break—at 3:00. Phone records indicate that the call came from a pay phone on the docks. Just to confirm, she wasn't talking to you?"

Stephen shook his head. "No. I was still at work. And I have no idea who she could have been speaking to."

"Her colleague said that Carolyn seemed happy and excited. And according to that colleague, when he entered, she lowered her voice, like she didn't want him to overhear something."

Stephen shook his head again. "I don't know what that might have been about." But Robert noticed that something in his movement and expression seemed off. Stephen knew more than he was telling.

Robert decided to try to distract him. "Did you bring those photographs I asked for?"

* * *

><p>Anna poured herself another cup of tea before attempting to answer her daughter's question. "Robert isn't a <em>problem<em>, Robin. And he hasn't done anything to create trouble between Duke and me. We've done that ourselves. We're not the same people we were when we were first together. We've agreed to try again, but we both knew it would be hard."

Robin looked her mother in the eye. "But Dad's here now as well, and you two were also together, and more recently than you and Duke. You remarried Dad after Duke died, or was supposed to have died, and before Faison kidnapped you. As I remember it, you were both happier than I'd ever seen you before. And then when Dad was sick, I know you reconnected again. That is, until he was a complete jerk and left for treatment in Switzerland without you."

Anna smiled sadly. "He did that for good reason, and you know it. He was too proud to accept my help."

"Whatever." Robin rolled her eyes. "You're being too generous to him as usual. I'm just saying that it's completely understandable if you're feeling conflicted right now. You did tell me at Christmas that you love both Dad and Duke. If you're trying to decide between the two of them, you need to do what you said you would in just this kind of situation: you need to ask yourself who you want to build a life with."

"Build a life with?" Anna asked, incredulous. "I said that, faced with a choice between the two of them thirty years ago, I would have asked myself that question. But our conversation was completely hypothetical: I was never faced with that choice in the past. And now, let's be frank, the three of us are far too long-in-the-tooth to be 'building a life' with anyone."

Robin looked at Anna sadly. "Good grief, Mom, you aren't dead yet. You can't think like that. Why _not_ talk about building a life? Why _not_ ask yourself who you want to spend the rest of your life with? When you think about the prospect of being with Dad, or with Duke, which gets you most excited? Which makes your pulse race? Which makes your hands sweat?" Robin laughed. "Because, you know, you could have either of them. The choice is yours. That hypothetical situation you described at Christmas is, in fact, reality."

Anna became even more uncomfortable. "Robin, I told you that your father would never put me in the position of having to choose between him and Duke. And anyway, I doubt Robert has any serious interest in revisiting a relationship with me."

Robin smiled crookedly and cocked her head to one side. "Oh Mom, it's painfully obvious that Dad's pining for you. He has been for years. The difference now, I think, is that he's actually realized it."

Anna didn't know what to say, and so Robin continued.

"By the way, what happened on New Year's Eve? Because it was pretty obvious at our brunch that you and Dad spent the evening together. Did you have fun? It seemed like you did."

After a beat Anna smiled at her daughter, looked down at her tea cup and swirled the leaves at the bottom. "Yeah," she admitted. "We did. We really did."


	6. Chapter 6

Stephen watched Robert shuffle slowly through the stack of old photographs he'd presented to him. Occasionally Robert would stop and ask questions. "Who's this man sitting beside Carolyn at the table?" "Her brother Alex." "Who's this woman with her by the barbecue?" "Her cousin's wife Janice."

"Who's this guy standing with the two of you? And where are you exactly—were you on vacation?"

Stephen craned his neck to see the photo as Robert held it out. "That's Alan."

Robert looked again more closely. "Are you related? There's more than a bit of a resemblance."

Stephen smiled and shook his head. "We were asked that a lot. No, we were just friends. Actually we were friends-in-law. I went to high school with his wife. She's the one taking the photograph. We all took a trip to Puerto Vallarta together."

Robert kept scanning the picture. "How did Carolyn and he get on? Were they friendly?"

"Yes," Stephen answered, Robert realized, a bit too loudly and quickly. "If you're thinking they were more than friends, though, you're wrong. Carolyn always used to joke with me that Alan was my slightly less attractive twin. That makes her sound catty and cruel—she wasn't; she just humoured me in my many insecurities. To reassure me she'd often say that she'd gotten the better deal."

Robert looked up. "Better deal than whom? Your friend?"

"Yes, my friend Elizabeth. Alan's wife."

"Do you have a photograph of her?"

Stephen reached for the stack and began to sort through it.

* * *

><p>"So what happened during this magical night? I want details—but nothing too explicit. You know I don't handle the idea of parental sex very well."<p>

Anna pressed her lips together. "Good thing for you, then, that nothing really happened. Duke left the Port Charles Hotel lounge and I was sitting alone being miserable. Robert sent over a bottle of champagne. We shared it, talked for a while, danced a bit. We always loved to dance. Then he walked me home. It was nice."

"Did you invite him in for a nightcap?"

Anna hesitated before she replied. "No. Duke was there waiting at the suite."

"Would you have invited Dad in for a nightcap if Duke hadn't been there?"

Anna hesitated again. "I think so. I was a little bit tipsy."

A smile slowly spread over Robin's lips. "Okay. But the real question is—were your hands sweating?"

Anna chewed her lip again and smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, they were."

* * *

><p>"Here. This is Elizabeth."<p>

Robert took the picture from Stephen. Elizabeth and Carolyn were standing together, arms around each other's waists, smiling and relaxed. They were wearing sun dresses, tanned, hair loose, both of them perhaps a few sheets to the wind. They were happy. Elizabeth, a tall blonde, towered over Carolyn, dark-haired and petite. If their husbands were near twins, the two women were a study in contrast.

Robert considered how to broach his next subject. "Elizabeth is very attractive. Were you always just friends? Or did you have some kind of romantic history?"

Stephen shook his head. "We were never more than friends. Look, I get it—she's beautiful. I could always see that, especially when we were both teenagers. But I never thought of her that way."

"Did Carolyn ever ask you about your feelings for Elizabeth?"

This time Stephen nodded. "Yes. When we first started dating. I tried to explain it to her, said I looked at Elizabeth more as a sister than anything. But that's not really true; that's not exactly the reason. Anyway, once Carolyn got to know us both better, she told me that she could sense there wasn't anything between us. As far as I knew, Carolyn never felt threatened."

"Did Elizabeth and Carolyn become friends?"

Stephen smiled. "Yes. Carolyn was really generous with herself. Everyone loved her. And she had this amazing ability to connect with other people."

* * *

><p>"You have to let Dad know how you're feeling," Robin ordered. "As soon as possible. You've spent so many years apart; there's no reason why you should waste more time."<p>

Anna looked down. "There is a reason, a very good reason. I'm with Duke. I've promised Duke that we can try again. How can I go back on my promise?"

Robin took Anna's hand. "Uncle Duke wouldn't want you to be with him out of some sense of obligation. He wouldn't want your pity."

Anna looked up into Robin's eyes. "It's not pity exactly, or obligation. I know how difficult it is to resume a life that's been interrupted. I wanted to help him adjust, to feel normal again."

Robin smiled. "And you've done that. He feels so normal he's gallivanting around town at all hours setting up another club. Now I think it's time you resumed your old life, connected again with the person who made you the happiest I've ever seen you."

"Haven't you heard that you can't go home, Robin?" Anna asked.

Robin shook her head. "You can if you go back to it by moving forward. Don't go backwards, Mom. Do a big circle. It _is_ possible. Look at me."

* * *

><p>Robert could tell that Stephen was exhausted. He reordered the photographs into a neat pile and slid it across the table. But he had one question left.<p>

"Stephen, earlier when I asked what Carolyn might have been excited about, you told me you had no idea. But I don't think that was true. I think you do have some idea. I need you to tell me. Because no matter how trivial, this information may help us with our investigation."

Stephen looked at his hands and clasped them together. He said nothing.

Robert waited. Then he persisted. "I think you know what she was talking about, if not to whom. What was she excited about that day?"

Stephen didn't look up. "I didn't tell the detectives this because it seemed too personal, and I couldn't see how it had anything to do with the case. I wasn't withholding information. I just wanted to keep it between Carolyn and me. But maybe she told that person on the phone. I can't imagine who she'd confide it to." He paused and took a deep breath.

"Carolyn and I were trying to get pregnant. She was a week and a half late and feeling—unwell . When I asked her if I could pick something up for her on the way home, I was asking if I should pick up a pregnancy test. She told me no, not yet, she would get one herself in a few days."

Robert nodded, said "Thank you, Stephen," and stood. He put out his hand. The two men shook. Stephen turned and walked out of the sports bar. Robert sat down heavily. He felt his jaw clench. The muscles between his shoulder blades knotted. A jolt of pain travelled up his spine to the base of his skull.

* * *

><p>After saying goodbye to Robin at the cafe, Anna drove to the police station to check on the status of "things." Five hours later, at nearly nine o'clock, she was finally pulling into her parking spot at the Metro Court, tired and hungry, having eaten nothing since lunch. She stopped at the restaurant hoping to place an order, intending to bring something up to her suite. But that's when she saw Robert, alone at the bar, head in hands, shoulders slumped. She could tell something was very, very wrong.<p>

She approached him cautiously and slid onto the stool beside him. "Hello, Robert. You look like hell. Anything you want to talk about?"

Robert slid his fingers down from his forehead to his chin, where they stayed. He remained hunched. "I haven't had the best day. But it's been productive, I hope. You could offer to buy me a drink."

Anna glanced away, unsure. "How many have you already had? Should you have another?"

Robert dropped one hand down to the bar, propped his cheek up with the other, and looked over at her seriously. "I haven't had anything to drink today except for coffee and club soda. If you don't believe me, ask the man."

Anna made eye contact with the bartender, who'd overheard their conversation. "He's telling the truth," he said. "He's stone-cold sober."

Anna looked back at Robert. "You don't look in the mood for champagne. A martini? Scotch?"

"Scotch, please. And a small confession: I was waiting for you. I needed a drink but I didn't want to drink alone. I promise, no more than one. Though it should be a double. And once we get our order, let's try to get a table somewhere." He darted his eyes up at the bartender. "You can't get any privacy here."

* * *

><p>Luckily the restaurant wasn't busy that night and they were able to move somewhere quiet. Anna wanted to order supper but wondered if it would be rude. She asked Robert if he was hungry and he said no. She had a bad feeling she'd be eating taco chips from a vending machine in a couple of hours. In the meantime she'd be drinking wine on a very, very empty stomach. She made a mental note to go slow."<p>

"So, Robert, what's gotten you so upset?"

He told her about his meeting with Stephen Corbett. Anna listened to him repeat the details in the file. When he finished, she observed, "We knew all of this before, Robert. You said the day was productive, but awful. What did you learn from Mr. Corbett that upset you so much?"

Robert met and held her gaze. They looked at each other for a moment. "Carolyn Thompson may have been pregnant when she went missing. They were trying to have a child. Stephen and she had reason to believe they might have conceived."

Anna exhaled audibly, as though the breath had been gently but forcefully pushed out of her.

Robert's face was grim. "How the hell am I, or how are you, supposed to be objective here?"

Anna shook her head. "I don't know, Robert—maybe this time objectivity isn't what's called for. Maybe our similar experience will help us figure out what happened to Carolyn."

Robert threw back the last of his drink. "You know, we've never talked about this before. We've carefully avoided any and all reference to it."

Anna nodded. "Yeah. I know."

"We were trying. If things had been different, we could have had another daughter. A son."

Anna said nothing.

"The bitch of it all is that we thought we were safe, that we could finally forget about Faison, the Cartel, the Jeromes, the Cassadines. We thought we could be normal family. The marriage, the honeymoon, the house, the idea of another child. In hindsight it all seems like a farce. A fantasy."

Anna took Robert's hands. "Don't say that, Robert. Please don't say that. We had everything for a short time. And it was real. Don't make it sound meaningless. It was the happiest time of my life."

Robert looked wounded. "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. It's just that it couldn't last. And everything was worse after, for me at least, knowing what we'd lost."

They sat holding hands for a moment, saying nothing. Robert broke the silence. "I've always wondered but never had the courage to ask. I'm not even sure I want to know."

"What, Robert? Ask me now."

He looked away from her. "Were you pregnant when Faison took you? All these years I've worried that you were. I've wondered if I should hate him for more than just losing you. I assumed that, if you were, you lost the baby because of the explosion."

Anna stroked Robert's clasped hands with her thumbs. "No, Robert. I wasn't pregnant. All Faison did was perhaps prevent us from having another child. I may never have been able to conceive anyway. You know the chances were low."

Robert's body slumped. Anna could tell that he was profoundly relieved. She was glad, and reminded herself that in some ways he was very fragile. He didn't need to know everything. And she needed to take care of him.

She asked if he wanted another drink, and he said no. She asked him if he wanted to come up to her suite before he went home, and he said yes. They didn't speak in the elevator, both exhausted. But then in the silence Anna's stomach growled. Robert lifted his eyebrows in question. Anna shrugged her shoulders. "I didn't have any supper."

The elevator opened at her floor. She stepped out; Robert stayed inside. He pushed a button. "I'll be right back," he told her. And disappeared.

She went into her suite and into the bathroom, removed her makeup, changed into something more comfortable and threw on her dressing gown. Twenty minutes after she sat down on the sofa she heard a soft knock at the door.

It was Robert, paper bag in hand. "It was the only place still open," he explained. "I come bearing Chinese take-out."

"By pure coincidence your favourite meal," she laughed.

They sat on the sofa and ate directly from the boxes. He passed her his; she passed him hers. He expressed surprise at the amount of food she consumed; she expressed surprise that he never grew tired of lobster rolls. When they were finished and the sparse leftovers had been placed in the refrigerator, she asked him to stay. She had a second bedroom, she pointed out. And she could tell that he was tired.

"I don't have my toothbrush, Luv," was Robert's response.

Anna said nothing, lifted her index finger to indicate she had a solution, walked to the closet and produced a toothbrush still in its packaging. Robert raised his eyebrows. "Someone seems a bit too prepared for unexpected overnight male guests," he observed.

Anna smiled. "Look more carefully at the toothbrush, Robert," she instructed as she handed it over, and he looked. It was tiny, pink, and the packaging promised it would play one of five special tunes while he brushed.

"We've been having trouble getting Emma to clean her teeth," Anna laughed. "It's a bit small, but I think it will do for you for one night."

"I like it," Robert smiled. "Don't throw it out once I'm done with it. Keep it for me here. You never know when I might need it again."

* * *

><p>Half an hour later he was in the guest room turning down the sheets. There was a knock at the door. He walked over and opened it.<p>

"Hi," Anna said. She leaned on the door jamb. "Do you have everything you need?"

Robert smiled. "Yeah. Thank you."

Anna nodded. "Could I come in for just a second?"

Robert hesitated. "Sure," he said, and opened the door wider.

Anna walked in, her arms crossed, hugging herself. She looked cold. "Are you okay?" Robert asked.

Anna nodded. Then she took a step toward him, opened her arms, reached for his hands, held them for a moment, and finally moved in to hug him. Robert held her, leaning his cheek against her hair. He had to remind himself to breathe.

"This is going to sound odd, Robert. But can I sleep in here with you? I don't want to be alone."

Robert pulled back, looked at her, touched her cheek, and nodded. Anna climbed into the bed; Robert got in after her. They lay together, his chest to her back, his hand wrapped around her waist. Anna fell asleep almost immediately. Robert remained awake longer, wondering at the sensation of being together with her in the bed. It was so familiar and yet so strange. He made himself remember how it felt in case it didn't happen again.

* * *

><p>For a short, cruel moment when he woke up the next morning, Robert thought they were back in the bedroom he and Anna had shared in the old Webber house. They'd shifted positions in the night; he was now on his back and she was turned in toward him, her head on his chest. Before he'd remembered that they weren't in their marriage bed, that they were ex-spouses and ex-lovers, he nuzzled the top of her head, kissed her hair, stroked it with his free hand, breathed in her scent. And then he remembered, froze, prayed she was still asleep, that he hadn't woken her. He became acutely aware that he was aroused, and wondered how he could extricate himself without Anna becoming similarly aware. And at that moment, she spoke.<p>

"Good morning, Robert." Her voice was low, relaxed. She turned her head to look up at him and smiled broadly. "I feel wonderful. I haven't slept that well in—actually, I don't remember how long." With that, she stretched. Robert shifted himself slightly to avoid the reach of her left hand, extended down across his abdomen to his hips, trying to prevent an awkward collision. "What time is it?" she asked.

"I don't know," he answered. "The arm with my wrist watch is somewhere underneath you."

Anna frowned. "Just look at the clock radio on the nightstand. Behind me."

Robert lifted his head off the pillow. "7:20," he announced.

Anna jolted and propped herself up on one arm. "Damn it, damn it, I should already be at the office. I must have forgotten to set the alarm. I've got to go get ready." She started to get out of bed and then looked back at Robert. Something had to be said. Robin was right.

"Robert, . . ."

He didn't let her continue. "Anna," he offered, "you don't have to say anything. Everything's good."

"But Robert," she tried to continue.

Again, he cut her off. "We just needed each other last night after a stressful day. We discussed something difficult that we—that I—needed to discuss. Then we were there for each other as good friends. There's nothing more to it than that. Remember all those times I slept on your couch when you and Robin were threatened? It was exactly the same thing."

Anna stared at him. "Except you weren't on the couch. We were in the same bed. In the past I always insisted you sleep somewhere else, on the floor, in a chair. So don't you think that the fact we were together might have been significant?"

Robert seemed uncomfortable. "I just thought you'd mellowed in your old age. You know, dropped the overdeveloped British prudery and sense of decorum."

Anna took one of his hands. "When I woke up, you were kissing me, touching my hair, the way you used to when we were together."

Robert's gaze darted away. "I momentarily forgot when and where I was."

"That may be so," she continued, "but I knew when and where I was, and it made me incredibly happy. And then you stopped."

Robert looked back at her again and their eyes locked. Very slowly, Anna leaned in, and then they kissed, at first tentatively, hesitantly, unsure, and then with more confidence as their bodies remembered and responded. Anna, on top, was at an advantage; she pressed in to deepen their connection and pulled back when feeling overwhelmed. Robert could only respond; he wanted to pull her down to him, make her commit to the intensity, but sensed that she needed to be in control. And when she finally pulled back to look at him, her hands pressing gently down on his chest, he let her go.

She stared at him for a moment. Then she ordered, "Say my name, Robert."

Robert felt his stomach drop. It was a familiar and frequent request she'd made of him long ago. She claimed she could read his love for her in the way that he spoke that single word. Now he could barely get it out. "Anna." He still felt the love but also loss, regret, and pain.

She smiled sadly, leaned down, and kissed him once more. She touched his cheek. "I have to get ready," she said, and left the room.


	7. Chapter 7

Anna was dressed and ready to go when Robert finally got up the courage to leave the guest room. She had her car keys in her hand and was putting on her coat and scarf. "Stay as long as you like," she told him; "just make sure the door is locked when you go." They looked at each other. She sighed. "I know—a stupid thing for me to say. I feel a bit awkward here."

Robert smiled, uncharacteristically shy. "So do I."

Anna tugged at her coat, knotted her scarf, and then strode over, closing the short distance between them. She put her hands on his shoulders. "There's something I need to do this evening. But promise me we'll see each other later today. Or tonight."

Robert nodded.

With that she was gone.

Once she reached her car, she pulled out her cell phone and dialled Duke's number. Her call went straight to voice mail. "Duke, it's me. We need to talk. Call me when you can." And with that, she was off.

* * *

><p>"Progress report?" she demanded. Detective Dante Falconeri looked down at his file. "According to ballistics, the shells we found in the warehouse came from six different weapons. And it's conclusive that the bullet taken out of Max wasn't from Sonny's gun. Sonny obviously isn't telling the truth about the shooting."<p>

"Well at least we can now prove what we've known all along," she muttered. "Can you tell me anything new? Has anyone talked? Where are we with the alleged witness? Have we made any progress?"

Dante spread his hands in a gesture of frustration. "He's been put behind a firewall by his lawyer, Alexis Davis. We can't get near him."

"And Mr. Corinthos' story remains the same?"

Dante nodded. "He accidentally shot Max while he was cleaning his gun."

"What bothers me most about all this," Anna growled, "is Corinthos' obvious disdain for the PCPD, and for my intelligence. I'm taking this very personally." She paused. "Have we canvassed the neighbourhood for security footage? Surely there are surveillance cameras posted at the front and freight doors of some of the local businesses."

Dante made a note in the file. "I'll get right on that."

Anna lifted her pen to her lower lip. "I want to see who was in the general vicinity at the time of the shootout. We may not have footage of what happened inside, but we might get a better idea of exactly who was involved. I'd expect to see Julian, Sonny, Shawn, and Max on camera. But I'm very curious about who else was there. We know there were two more shooters—who were they? I doubt one of them was Shawn's nephew T.J. That warehouse must have been full to the rafters with thugs, and if there was one witness, there might be others. Let's try to find out who they are."

As Dante was collecting together his papers and files, Anna's phone rang. She answered. "Commissioner Devane."

It was Duke. "I'm calling back, as requested. What's the problem, Anna? Your message sounded serious."

Anna grimaced. "I didn't mean to worry you. But we really do need to talk. Could you meet me after work? Maybe come by the station at 5:00 or 6:00?"

"I'd love to," he responded; "maybe we can finally have that dinner we've be planning."

Anna felt her heartbeat skip. "Yes, well, let's talk first, and then we'll see. I know you're busy. I'll see you later." She ended the call.

It would be an unpleasant evening.

* * *

><p>Across town, Ava Jerome was waiting impatiently outside Julian's suite. Finally the door swung open. "I don't want to know what you were doing, Julian, but god, why did it take so long for you to walk across the room to answer the door? I feel like I've been waiting five minutes out here." She strode into the suite and gave him a withering look. "And why do you insist on answering the door without a shirt? Were you expecting someone else? Someone who would be impressed? Frankly, I find it disturbing that my half-brother takes every opportunity to show off his chest to me. Good thing we were never locked up together in an attic." Ava cackled at her own joke.<p>

Julian said nothing, walked to the bathroom, and came back out with a dress shirt. "Better?" he asked.

"Now I can take you seriously," she answered. "Tell me, what was so important I had to drop everything and come right over?"

As Julian spoke, he buttoned the front and cuffs of his shirt. "I've been told about a particularly intriguing new business venture here in Port Charles. Duke Lavery is helping an anonymous business partner open a new club."

Ava looked unimpressed. "Why do we care at all what Lavery is up to? I don't want you to become obsessed with exacting revenge on that whinging dolt for actions he took against the family twenty-five years ago. We have more pressing concerns; you can't afford to get distracted."

Julian smiled. "We care about what Lavery is up to largely because of his mysterious partner. What you don't know, on account of you being a bastard, is that back-in-the-day Lavery ran clubs here in PC and in New York for our father. Daddy Dearest laundered money through those clubs and used them to sell—how to best say it—'illegally obtained' alcohol."

Ava was intrigued. "And you think Lavery might be setting up his club as a front for someone and something similar?"

Julian lifted the index finger of his right hand and flamboyantly touched it to his nose.

"And you think this someone similar might be Corinthos?"

Julian smiled. "Of course. Who else? Lavery has the knowledge and experience. Sleeping with the police commissioner probably makes him feel immune to prosecution—though, if memory serves me correctly, it didn't help him in the past. Anna Devane tried her best to ignore his mob connections when they were first together, but eventually even she had to acknowledge Lavery was a crook. I can't imagine Duke would be asked to manage a club for anyone _but_ a mob boss. I doubt he knows the first thing about running one above-board."

Ava leaned back against the desk. "But you aren't sure about this?"

Julian was tucking in his shirt and turning up his cuffs. "No, I'm not sure. But I think it's a safe bet."

"How do we find out if Lavery's back in it and who he's working for?"

Julian shrugged. "We find out what we can about the shipments being sent to Lavery's club. We pay special attention to large shipments of booze and deliveries made after hours."

"So we watch and wait?" Ava asked.

Julian smiled. "We watch very carefully and wait."

"And if it turns out Lavery is working with Corinthos?"

"If the shipments are illegal, we can do anything we want to them—steal them, trash them, hit them where it hurts. They won't be able to go to the cops, unless Devane is also on Sonny's payroll, which I highly doubt. The club might be Corinthos' Achilles' heel. His coffee business has been up and running so long he's identified and strengthened all the potential weak points and breaches. But a new venture might offer a vulnerability that we can exploit."

Ava's generous mouth spread into a Cheshire-cat grin. "So once we're sure, we pounce."

* * *

><p>Back at the station, Anna was scrolling through pages and pages of witness reports—or, more accurately, non-witness reports—taken in the warehouse district on the night of the shooting. No one had seen anything, no one had heard anything. Anna wondered if any of the accounts were true or if everyone in Sonny's neighbourhood was simply too frightened to tell the police what they knew.<p>

There was a knock at the door. Anna looked up. "Yes?" she called out, and it opened.

Robert stood in the doorway. Anna removed her reading glasses. They shared a look. "Hello Robert. Come in."

He walked over to her desk. "Any chance of you taking a break and coming out for lunch?" he asked. Anna shook her head. "Sorry. I have a meeting with DA Baldwin in fifteen minutes. He'll huff and puff for a while, upset about the lack of progress on the shooting, will probably threaten to blow my house down, and then I'll be able to get back to work. I wonder what he would do to persuade our uncooperative witnesses."

"If there's anything I can help you with," he offered, "just let me know."

Anna suddenly remembered something, pushed her chair back from her desk, opened and reached into one of her drawers. "On that very subject, I have a contract for you to sign. Once you've done that and officially become a consultant to the PCPD, I have a shiny new identification badge for you to wear here at the station. If you need anything from anyone, all you need to do is show it and ask."

Robert took the paper, signed, and accepted the i.d. "You know, it feels pretty good to be back in the business of defending Port Chuck. Feels like old times."

Anna smiled. "Yes, it does. Only you were usually on this side and I was on that side of the desk."

Robert grinned back. "You forget that occasionally we were both on the same side—on top of the desk."

Anna frowned. "Now that I'm commissioner, Agent Scorpio, that kind of funny business is not tolerated. I run a tighter ship than you did. I'm much more professional."

Robert sighed. "Admirable, but disappointing. I came all the way over here in the hope . . . oh well. Now that I've got my badge, maybe I'll get down to work. I don't want it to be a wasted trip."

Anna folded her hands. "What's your strategy, Robert? Now that you've spoken to Stephen Corbett, what's your next move?"

Robert became serious. "Since the possible pregnancy is the only new information we've got, it seems logical to pursue that angle. It makes sense of her excitement on the phone and her attempt to keep her colleague from hearing the conversation. I've been going through the file trying to identify anyone she might have told—family members, very close friends. She had two sisters, but they weren't living in Port Charles at the time of Carolyn's disappearance. I'll get in touch with both to find out what they knew and to confirm neither of them was in town when she disappeared. If they weren't in the loop, she must have told a close friend. Stephen identified four or five women she was particularly friendly with. I'll work my way down the list, I guess. I'll need current telephone numbers and addresses; your shiny new badge will help me out there."

Anna nodded. "Sounds logical. I appreciate you taking the lead on this case. If you need anything from me, just let me know."

Robert smiled. "And if you need any help on the mob shooting, feel free to bring me in."

"Just like old times at the Scorpio-Devane Detective Agency," Anna observed. Then there was a loud, obnoxious knock at the door. "Come in," she called.

It was Scott Baldwin, and he looked angry. "What the hell are you doing here, Scorpio? In case you hadn't noticed, this is no longer your fiefdom. The PCPD isn't your private security firm anymore."

"One of the perks of being a consultant and not the commissioner," Robert said, looking at and directing his comment to Anna, ignoring Baldwin completely, "is that I'm not required to deal with this jackass in an official capacity ever again. Good day, Ms. Devane." He turned on his heel and walked out of the office with a wave of the hand.

* * *

><p>Anna had been glancing at the clock all afternoon, watching the hands crawl up and around until they hit 5:00. Her stomach was doing flips as she waited, knowing Duke could walk in at any minute. She hoped he would call first so that she could feel more mentally prepared. But then the phone rang. She answered. "Duke Lavery to see you, Commissioner," she was told.<p>

His promptness, his eagerness, made Anna feel even worse. "Tell him to come through."

When he entered the office, Anna stood and walked across the room toward him. Duke smiled and moved in for a kiss; Anna balked. Duke drew back, his eyes questioning. He asked, "Are you still upset with me for the past few evenings? The problem with operating a club is that your business dealings often take place at night. I'm sorry I've been called away so often."

Anna leaned back on her desk. "I remember what it was like when we were married. I didn't see much of you unless I was at the club, dressed in a gown and parked at a table somewhere central. I hope you're not taking on a similar kind of commitment."

Duke shook his head and reached to take her hands. "No, no; once the club is up and running, I'll step away. I'm only a consultant, not the manager. But I want to do my job right; I'm working very hard to make sure the place will eventually run like clockwork without me. But I've made it very clear that I'm not to be disturbed tonight. You're my priority this evening, Anna. I'm sorry I've let club business keep us apart."

"Yes," Anna spoke softly, "about that, Duke. I want to acknowledge my part in our recent troubles. I haven't been entirely above-board with you, haven't let you in on what I've been thinking and feeling recently, and I really need us to talk honestly about our future. Things have been difficult lately, but not only because of your business responsibilities. I've been asking myself some really tough questions, questions, actually, that Robin encouraged me to think about . . . "

Duke's cell phone pinged. Anna stopped speaking and looked into his eyes. "Ignore it," she told him.

Duke looked back at her. "Of course. Please, Anna, tell me what you've been feeling. I want to know."

Anna cleared her throat and looked down. "Well, I know we both committed to starting over, to exploring whether or not we want to be a couple again. And we have been—have been trying, and have been a couple too—even though, and I think we would both agree on this, it's been quite hard. We're very different people than we were before. So much happened after we were separated—bad things, obviously, but also good things, at least for me and I hope as well as for you. Anyway, we've both experienced some fairly significant traumas since we were married . . ."

Duke's cell phone pinged again. He looked at her apologetically. "I'm so sorry. Don't stop."

But Anna, who had been rambling anyway, had lost her train of thought, and she could sense that Duke wasn't carefully concentrating on what she said either. The phone pinged again.

"Maybe it's better if I just check the messages," Duke offered; "I'll deal with this quickly and then we'll have the rest of the evening to sort everything out." He checked his texts. As he scrolled through, Anna noticed his jaw clench. "What is it about?" she asked.

Duke looked up. "I hate to do this to you again, Anna . . ."

Anna stood. "No, Duke; this cannot happen now . . ."

Duke was putting his phone back in his coat pocket. "I have no choice. A delivery's being made in half an hour and there's no one to meet it but me. Just let me deal with this and I can come and find you later. And I promise, once the club is up and running, I'll dedicate every hour of the day to you and to our relationship." He kissed her on the cheek. "I'll call you as soon as I'm done," he promised and hurried out the door.

"Oh no you don't," Anna muttered. She grabbed her coat and bag and followed him, at a discreet distance, out of the station.

Fifteen minutes later, after a convoluted and suspicious stroll through Port Charles' more out-of-the-way side streets and alleys, Anna had followed Duke to a location not far from the docks. It saddened her to see him warily look around and behind him, thinking he was being cautious, thinking he could tell if he was being followed. "You're not as good at this as you think you are, Sweetheart," she muttered to herself. "You've gotten yourself into so much trouble here."

Assuming he was unobserved, Duke opened the door to Sonny Corinthos' restaurant and office. Anna's heart sank. She knew now without a doubt that he'd ignored her request to stay out of the mob war. She wondered how deep he was in it, and how on earth she would get him out. Most of all, she wanted to kick his ass for putting her in the position of having to rescue him.

* * *

><p>Once inside the office, Duke slammed the door behind him. "What in hell is this about, Corinthos? I didn't realize when I agreed to help you go after the Jeromes that I'd be at your beck and call twenty-four-bloody-hours of the day. What are you trying to do, <em>make<em> Anna suspicious?"

Sonny smiled. "Of course not, Lavery. I just have various jobs for you to do. As I said earlier, your woman, your problem—you figure out how to keep Anna in the dark."

"How can I protect that woman when I'm never actually in her immediate vicinity?" Duke railed. "If Julian wanted to, he could take her out at any time, and I'd be nowhere near to keep her safe."

Sonny smiled wider. "From what my sources tell me, you don't need to worry about Anna Devane. If she isn't already her own best body guard, she has someone else watching her lovely back. I'd be more worried about Robert Scorpio 'taking her out,' in a different sense, than Julian Jerome. It seems the commissioner's been spending a surprising amount of time with her other ex-husband."

Duke thought about Anna's strange behaviour in her office and the odd conversation she had initiated, her rambling apology, her reference to the difficulties of re-establishing their relationship.

"In fact," Sonny suggested, "you might want to ask her about last night, who her guest was."

Duke stared at Sonny. Sonny shrugged his shoulders in apology.

"Certain information just falls into my lap. Ms. Devane lives at a hotel owned and run by my ex-wife and my current girlfriend. As a result, I'm privy to some interesting facts, for example, the identity of the man who entered the commissioner's suite late last night and didn't leave again until early this morning. If you want to see, I have security footage on file."

Duke turned and was about to leave when Sonny commanded forcefully, "Don't forget to meet that shipment. We've got a truckload of booze coming in from across the state line. And you need to find a place to stash it until the club opens."

Duke walked out of the office.


	8. Chapter 8

Anna hurried back to the office, anxious to access any and all the public files she could find on the new business Duke was setting up for Corinthos. She recognized that she didn't have the evidence she'd need to get a warrant and so couldn't access anything private or protected, but she hoped (naively, she knew) there might be an obvious trail of breadcrumbs to something that made sense of their collaboration. The building he'd arranged to rent was owned by a suspicious consortium of out-of-country investors; the business and liquor licenses Duke had applied for named him as the sole applicant, no mention of the mystery club owner for whom he claimed to work. Everything Anna found made Duke's story seem less and less likely, and confirmed her suspicion that he was involved once again in the mob. This time he was working for Corinthos and not the Jeromes, but it hardly mattered. Again, he had gotten in over his head; again, thinking he was in control, Duke was, she was sure, instead being manipulated and exploited. Anna remembered how humiliated she'd been after his mob connections had been revealed more than twenty-five years ago, when she was first police commissioner, how she'd resigned her position in shame, and had almost run away from Port Charles in disgrace.

"Fool me twice," she muttered, "shame on me. I should have suspected something sooner."

* * *

><p>Robert was propped up against his headboard, staring variously and in turn at the contents of the cold file open and scattered around him on the bedcovers. Witness reports from 1998 were plastered with sticky notes bearing his inscrutable scrawl, the fruits of his labour thus far. No one had spoken to Carolyn that day, her sisters weren't in town, no one had had any idea that she might have been pregnant (this question had prompted muffled sobs over the phone during more than one conversation; Robert was sorry to be reigniting so much grief and trauma). There were still three close girlfriends Robert needed to contact. He dreaded every one of those interviews.<p>

He'd face it all tomorrow. Tonight he was, he had to admit, just killing time. Waiting for Anna to call. Hoping she'd call. Hoping even harder that maybe she would come by. Or call for him to come by. Robert's gut ached, and from time to time he broke out in a cold sweat. She'd said she wanted to see him today, but she had seen him at the office. Did that count? Would she want to see him again tonight? Earlier they had talked about business. She'd asked him about the case. Did she want to discuss more? Was there more to discuss? Did she maybe want to discuss _them_ instead? Their future? Or did she want to discuss anything at all? Did she maybe want some_thing _from him instead? Did she maybe want—him? Did she maybe want _them_? Robert, though occasionally trying to work, had sat alone on the bed for the last two hours feeling astounded, unsure, and expectant at the same time.

What eventually happened he didn't expect at all. A knock at the door roused him from his anxious daze; he extricated himself carefully from the paper-strewn bed, trying not to crease any of the documents. A part of him knew it was too much to hope for, but as he swung open the door he blurted out "Anna? Is that you?"

He shouldn't have said anything at all, because, of course, it wasn't Anna. It was a very pissed-off looking Duke Lavery instead. Robert stared at him for a moment, slightly stunned. Then, before he could ask what Lavery wanted, Duke hauled off and punched Robert full-force across the jaw.

* * *

><p>The next time he heard a knock at the door, Robert was more careful. He opened it a crack, leaving the chain on. "Who is it?" he asked.<p>

"It's me," said Anna. "What's with all the caution? I promise not to kick you. We're getting along really well right now, remember?" As Robert removed the chain, she spoke rapidly. "You're not going to believe what I just found out—actually, you will believe it, because you warned me it was possible, and I'm the one who didn't want to think that it could be true, but I've just come from the office . . . ."

Robert stood in the doorway, icepack pressed against his cheek, his jaw slightly swollen and bruised, his lip fat and cut.

"Oh my god, Robert, what happened to you?" Anna anxiously took his arm, ushered him over to the bed, sat him down, and lifted the icepack away, better to see the damage. "Are you okay? Who did this to you? When did it happen?"

Robert pushed the ice pack back onto his face. "Let's just say Lavery didn't respond well to whatever it was you told him. He was at my door about a half an hour ago, in a spitting rage. I didn't know he had it in him. I want you to know that he caught me unawares; otherwise he never would have gotten the drop on me."

Anna looked confused. "To what I told him? Robert, I didn't tell Duke anything."

Robert looked disappointed. "You didn't tell him that you'd been having second thoughts about him, about your relationship?"

Anna took Robert's free hand. "I was going to. I really was. I started to ramble something—I don't even remember what I said. I know I didn't mention you. But then he was called away again. I was so angry and annoyed I followed him. That's what I wanted to tell you. I followed him to Corinthos' office. Duke and Sonny are working together, I'm sure."

Robert lowered the ice pack. "If you didn't tell him anything, then why was Lavery shitting tacks, and why did he come over and plug me?"

"I don't know, Robert," Anna said apologetically. She carefully kissed the bruise on the side of his face, then his split lip, and gently but firmly replaced the ice pack on his jaw. Then she got to work collecting together the scattered papers of the file—"I see you your organizational style hasn't changed in all these years," she remarked—and put them on the desk, out of the way. She helped Robert sit back against the headboard again, took off her coat, and settled herself next to him, her right shoulder pressed against his left. She held his hand.

"Duke's obviously found out without me telling him that we've been spending time together," she remarked.

Robert frowned. "Trust me, Anna, he thought we'd done more than just spend time together, from the look in his eye and the ungodly 'my-child-is-trapped-under-the-car' strength behind his fist."

Anna abruptly understood and turned her head. "He knows that you spent the night? But how did he find out? No one saw you leave, did they?"

Robert looked at her impatiently. "Come on. Of course not. You know I know my business."

They were silent for a moment, staring forward. Suddenly they both turned and looked at each other. "Sonny Corinthos," Robert spoke the realization aloud, and Anna nodded, "Of course." They both looked back ahead, shaking their heads. "Carly Jacks," Robert snarled; "Olivia Falconeri," Anna scowled. "It never occurred to me that, by living at the Metro Court, I was compromising myself. I've been such an idiot."

Robert patted her leg. "Now, now, don't feel too bad." He left his hand on her thigh. They gazed at the opposite wall again, contemplating their situation. Robert was the first to break the silence.

"I have to admit that I'm glad it all happened this way."

Anna turned to look at him again. "Let me get this straight. You're happy Duke found out about us from his mob overlord, immediately ran over here, and slugged you in the jaw? Sometimes I really don't understand you."

Robert smiled broadly, which spread his fat lip flat, making it bleed again. He continued looking straight ahead. "No. I'm glad you realized you still cared about me before you found out about Lavery's underhandedness. Now I don't have to worry that I'm some kind of sad consolation prize, something you'll settle for now that you realize Lavery's a rat."

Anna turned away, looking off in the same direction as Robert. "You arrogant asshole," she replied. "You know very well that no woman who's ever met you has thought of you as a 'consolation prize.' You've always been the giant, dusty stuffed animal on the very top shelf that no woman thinks she has a chance in hell of winning but hopes against hope that maybe, just maybe she'll get."

Robert was quiet for a moment and almost seemed touched. But then he ruined the moment. "So let me get this straight," he checked; "you're telling me that Lavery, in fact, was the consolation prize, and that, really, you wanted _me_ all along?"

Anna jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow, but she was smiling. "Why in god's name do I keep spending tokens on this bloody carnival game? I'm sure it's rigged."

"In your favour, Darling," Robert laughed, and then moaned, clutching at his jaw.

"No, not in my favour, Robert," Anna sighed. "Winning you is always temporary. Some kind of sick loan. And then you're snatched away again." She looked at him and glared. "Either that or you leave of your own accord. You left me again after Robin's wedding. After what I thought had been a really wonderful and—intimate—reunion."

Robert didn't look at her. "I still think about that night."

Anna continued staring at him. "Cold consolation, Robert. If I'd known it was going to be a one-off, I probably would have said 'Thank you, no' and gone back to my own suite."

Robert still looked straight ahead. "You would have missed out on something pretty spectacular, if I do say so myself."

Now Anna looked away. "You were uncharacteristically generous that night. But only because of your stupid Scorpio pride. You didn't want me to see your bag. You wouldn't take off any of your clothes."

"Ah, but Humpty Dumpty's been put together again," Robert said, patting his abdomen. "I want you to know that I expect our next 'intimate reunion' to be more reciprocal."

"My great fear," Anna confessed, "is that you'll love me for a short time, and then something or someone will draw you away. In six months you'll pass your physical exam and tell me that you need to leave. And you will. And I'll be alone."

He turned to her. "You told me once that leaving is what I do best."

Anna didn't reply.

"I really do want to stay this time."

"If wishes were horses, Robert . . ."

"I know the rest of the proverb. Don't turn me into a beggar, Anna."

She looked back at him. "Robert, I don't have the ability to walk away from you. You were my first love and I'd like you to be my last. But we both know that I don't really have much to say in the matter."

She pushed herself away from the headboard, turned to face him, and kissed him on the forehead. "I'll get you an aspirin from the bathroom. You should get some rest." Then she got up off the bed.

"Wait," Robert commanded. He leaned over, opened the drawer of his nightstand, and pulled something out. He waved it triumphantly.

"Someone," Anna observed, "seems a bit too prepared for unexpected overnight female guests."

"I bought it for you this morning," he explained, presenting her with the toothbrush.

Anna laughed. "I start work at 7:00, Robert. To stay here I'd need more than a toothbrush. At very least I'd need a change of clothes. Believe it or not, the men I work with will notice if I show up tomorrow in today's rumpled outfit."

The disappointment showed in Robert's face. "Next time," she promised, "I'll come more prepared. Anyway, you're in no shape for more conversation or anything else tonight." She went to the bathroom to get his aspirin, put on her coat, and grabbed her bag. "I'll call you first thing in the morning to see how you're feeling. And if you can come into the office later, I'm expecting some security footage I hope will shed light on the warehouse shooting." And then she left.


	9. Chapter 9

When Anna phoned, she told him that, because space was tight, he'd be sharing Detective Falconeri's desk. Dante would be out until later that morning collecting evidence; when he returned to the station he'd promised to find Robert and bring him to her office. She wanted Robert there while she reviewed the security videos.

He arrived at a decent hour (certainly not at 7:00; he didn't remember going to the office before 8:00 when he was police commissioner, and wondered what the hell the world was coming to) and got to work. Falconeri's work space was neat, pristine; Robert spread his papers out over the surface of the desk. His first two calls went straight to voice mail, lulling him into a false sense of security, lulling him into thinking the morning would be a respite from the stress of interviews. The third call, to a New York number, was answered on the second ring, leaving Robert a bit startled and unprepared. "Hello, Elizabeth Beaty speaking. How may I help you?" Her voice was rich and full, but strange: Robert would be hard-pressed to describe it. It wasn't honey, it wasn't syrup, it was something else entirely. Maybe it was umami, he thought to himself—that strange savory mouth-feel flavour everyone talked about but couldn't really explain. Her voice was warm beef broth, roast chicken dinner.

"Hello, Ms. Beaty. My name is Robert Scorpio. I'm calling on behalf of the Port Charles Police Department. I'm a consultant hired by the department to look into the unsolved disappearance of Carolyn Thompson. I understand that you were a friend of hers."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Carolyn. I haven't thought about her in years. Yes, I was her friend. Why are you investigating this case again now, Mr. Scorpio? I thought the police had concluded there was no evidence of foul play. Have you found something to suggest otherwise?"

Robert cleared his throat. "We have some new information, yes, but the choice to re-open the investigation was largely administrative. The DA simply wants fresh eyes on old cases that were never solved. Ms. Thompson's disappearance is one of a number of investigations we're looking into again."

Another pause. "Mr. Scorpio, as luck would have it, I'm travelling to Port Charles tomorrow on business. I'm meeting a client in the morning, but my afternoon is open. I'd prefer to meet face-to-face to discuss Carolyn with you. Would you be free at 2:00?"

Robert said he would, and they arranged to meet for coffee at Kelly's, a place she told him she knew well. Robert's senses were tingling, but he wasn't sure why. He might be about to uncover a new lead, or he might simply have been affected by that voice. The feeling was exciting but not entirely pleasant.

* * *

><p>Falconeri came and found him shortly after 11:00. To his credit, Robert noted, Dante only raised his eyebrows slightly when he saw Robert's fat lip and the state of the desk.<p>

"Was your hunting and gathering expedition productive?" Robert asked.

A muscle in Dante's jaw twitched. "Let's just say I'm glad I won't be going into her office alone. The commissioner won't be happy with what I've got to show her."

Dante picked up his phone, made a call. "Lucky us," he said; "we can go right in. She's been waiting for us all morning."

There were no formalities once they entered. Anna sat on the edge of her chair, elbows propped on her desk, eyes expectant. "So," she asked, "what did you find?"

Dante presented her with a stack of notes. "We canvassed twelve businesses, six in the immediate vicinity of the warehouse, the other six located along routes we thought someone not wanting to be observed might take to get to or from there."

"And what did you find?"

"Very little," Dante grimaced. "It's all documented in the reports. Six businesses told us pretty much exactly the same thing: that they erase their security footage every twenty-four hours if there hasn't been a break-in or act of vandalism. They told us in no uncertain terms that they aren't paying for security systems to help the PCPD do its job, and that all they care about are property crimes—namely, crimes against their own property—nothing else."

"Charming," Anna muttered. "What about the others?"

"Three other businesses were happy to show us their footage, which was all complete. We saw nothing, no one, just the occasional known street person doing his rounds."

"Okay, nine strikes. What about the last three?"

"Two businesses offered to share their video with us, but when we looked for the footage with the time stamps we'd targeted, in both cases it was blank or compromised in some way. There were simultaneous 'fails', even though the two security systems weren't linked. We're either looking at a huge coincidence here, or someone interfered with both."

Anna's eyes were dark, narrow. "And the last remaining business?"

Dante's shoulder twitched. "This was one of the businesses we targeted because it's on a dark and quiet route to the warehouse. Here we have a 'hit.' We see someone walking toward the warehouse just when we'd expect, and someone leaving again after the shooting was, we assume, over."

Anna sat up straighter. She turned her computer monitor so all three of them could see. Dante gave her a USB drive, which she inserted. She opened the video.

It was surprisingly clear. Dante instructed, "Go to time signature 9:59." Anna did. The alley was empty, dark outside the halo of a security light. From the left side of the screen, a figure approached, passed just inside the spot of light, and exited again to the right. There could be no mistaking who it was. Duke Lavery.

"I'm sorry, Commissioner," Dante said. "Could there be a mistake? Could Duke have been in the neighbourhood for some other reason?"

Anna stared at the monitor. Robert spoke for her. "Mr. Lavery's probable involvement isn't entirely a surprise, Detective. However, the existence of this video evidence is."

Anna looked down and rubbed the bridge of her nose—a subtle gesture that wouldn't be noted by anyone but Robert. It was her signal, an old code sign, to say nothing further. Robert was quiet.

"Dante," she spoke wearily, "I've recently come to suspect that Duke is working for your father. The evidence, including this tape, is circumstantial but to my mind extremely convincing. I haven't been hiding anything from you, and I want you to document the evidence of his involvement in your file. Thank you for your work on this. Please, write up your report; I'll sign off on it when you're finished. I need to speak to Internal Affairs; obviously I can't allow the PCPD to be or appear to be compromised by my relationship with Duke."

Detective Falconeri left the office. Robert leaned over Anna's desk and they shared a knowing look. "He's being set up," Anna said, speaking what they both were thinking. Robert nodded. "It's been Corinthos' intention all along that I'd discover Duke's involvement. Every time we were together he'd be called away; now the only damning footage we recover from that night shows him skulking about in an alleyway. To what end, Robert?"

He considered. "Don't forget that Sonny also raised Duke's suspicions about us. I'd say Corinthos wants the two of you split up."

"It makes sense. If I ended my relationship with Duke, or he ended his with me, certain people would wonder why."

"Exactly. Certain people who might make assumptions based on past experience. You and Duke split years ago over his involvement in the mob."

"So Sonny wants the Jeromes to know that Duke is working for him. He's making him a target."

"Or he's using Duke as bait. Corinthos is fishing. When Jerome bites, Sonny will reel him in, chop off his head, and gut him."

"What do I do, Robert?" Anna looked dejected. "I can't compromise myself as commissioner by warning Duke. I doubt he'd listen to me right now anyway, given what he knows about us."

Robert corrected her: "Given what he suspects. He thinks you cheated on him with me."

Anna shook her head. "I _have_ betrayed him, more than he even suspects. He thinks I just slept with you, but I've done something far worse." She was quiet for a moment. "You'll have to warn him for me. Tell him to watch his back. And tell him I'll be at Kelly's at 1:00 tomorrow for lunch. That I'd like him to run into me there 'accidentally,' to sit down and talk. I want to apologize and explain."

Robert frowned. "He's the one who should be apologizing and explaining, Luv."

"Tell him I don't want things to end this way. But it's his choice. I'll be there waiting."

* * *

><p>Robert left the office shortly after 3:00. He used his private cell phone to call Lavery, who, unsurprisingly, didn't pick up. Not wanting to compromise Anna, Robert didn't leave a message. He'd have to track Lavery down and speak to him in person. Robert asked himself where he would be if he were a not-so-slick slickster Scotsman on the take, and was delighted to discover he had absolutely no idea. Robert couldn't put himself in Lavery's shoes, which he considered a very good thing.<p>

He wandered the seedier sections of the waterfront, hoping he might find Duke drowning his sorrows at some sad bar, but no luck. He strolled three or four times past Corinthos' coffee distribution centre, keeping a wary eye on both the front and back doors as he circled. Nothing. He ambled past the site of Duke's new club. He watched the comings and goings of various workmen, electricians, plumbers, observed the delivery of tables and chairs. Duke was nowhere to be found.

Robert finally stumbled upon him by pure, blind luck. Cold and tired, he ducked into a random coffee house to buy something to perk himself up, and there he spotted Lavery installed at a table, coffee in hand, a newspaper spread out around him. Robert felt triumphant, but would still be wary. No sense aggravating the man unduly. After all, he had a wicked right hook.

"Duke," Robert addressed him. Lavery looked up.

"Robert. Good lord. What happened to your face? No offense, but you look like hell. I hope you gave as good as you got."

"Don't worry," Robert smiled. "The other guy looks worse than me—mind you, I can't really take any credit for that. Is it okay if I sit?"

Duke, with obvious distaste, waved a hand toward the empty chair across from him. "What can I do for you?"

Robert sat down. "Actually, Duke, this is more about what I can and will do for you." He lowered his voice. "I'm here to warn you that Corinthos is setting you up. He misrepresented to you what happened between me and Anna, and he's very carefully arranged clues for her to find that connect you to his business. You're being played."

Duke put down his paper and stared at Robert. "I don't believe a word you say. Get out."

Robert shrugged his shoulders. "I tried to warn you. You're a chump, Lavery, and you're going to take a fall. Last thing: for some reason I cannot comprehend, Anna wants to see you. She'll be at Kelly's tomorrow at 1:00. This is not, I repeat, this is not an appointment. If you decide to show up, remember that you are running into her, that this is purely a chance encounter. If you feel the slightest bit of guilt after lying to her and dealing with the devil behind her back, do not compromise her further. The PCPD have connected you to Corinthos and she can't be seen intentionally fraternizing with the enemy. She told me to tell you that she wants to explain, wants to apologize (although god only knows for what), and probably wants to try to talk some sense into you. If you don't meet her, you're an idiot."

Robert rose. "Are we clear?"

Duke scowled.

Robert went to the counter, ordered his coffee, smiled at Duke, and left.

* * *

><p>When Anna called, Robert was on his way back to his hotel room. "Message delivered to target," he told her. "Lavery looked none-too-happy. I don't know if anything I said about Corinthos sunk in, and I have no idea if he'll show up tomorrow. But I promise you I tried. I even managed to be more-or-less civil."<p>

"Thank you, Robert," she said. Her voice sounded tired.

"Can I buy you a drink? Some dinner?" he offered.

"Actually, I'm calling to tell you we've been invited to Robin's for supper. Can you make it?"

Robert hesitated. "Of course. But how do I explain the fat lip? Any suggestions? What should be our story?"

Anna's laugh was more weary than amused. "I don't know. Why don't we try the truth? We're going to be facing awkward questions anyway. Robin tried to invite Duke but he hasn't been answering her calls. She knows something's up."

"You know I love our daughter," Robert began, "but I'm becoming a bit desperate to spend time alone with you. I need more than a short appointment in your office, more than a quick visit in my hotel room. When can we be together, Anna?"

Anna sighed. "I don't know. Let's say tomorrow night. I promise not to make any other plans. You do the same. And I'll pack an overnight bag. Sound good?"

Robert thought it did. He went back to his room to change.


	10. Chapter 10

Anna arrived at Kelly's shortly before 1:00 the next day. She ordered soup and a sandwich and sat down at a table near the back corner, concerned primarily to have a good view of the other tables: if Duke met her, she'd need to be able to see who else was there. She didn't want Baldwin blindsiding them, or one of Corinthos' men snapping pictures to imply collusion. Anna had to be careful. She would not allow her enemies to exploit the situation.

As she ate, she thought back on the previous evening. Dinner at the Scorpio-Drake house had been pleasant; it was always lovely to spend time with her daughter and granddaughter. But Anna and Robert's every move, every gesture, every look had been closely studied by their daughter; Anna had felt less scrutinized by the DVX agents at Café Odette during her and Robert's first mission, when they were pretending to be but weren't yet lovers. After dinner and after Emma had been carried off to bed, Robert had walked Anna out into the dark. Around the corner of the house, where they couldn't be seen by inquisitive eyes, he'd held her hands as she leaned back against the side of her car. They'd laughed at Robin's obvious obsession with her parents' relationship; both expressed excitement at the prospect of spending the next evening alone together. Robert kissed her gently, made a few roguish innuendoes, and held the door for her as she got into her car. She drove off wondering why the hell they were waiting twenty-four-more hours—and then she reminded herself that Robert responded well to delayed gratification.

Anna looked down at her watch: 1:30. Duke wasn't going to show. She was disappointed but also relieved. She'd tried to reach out to him. Whatever happened now, she could at least tell herself she'd wanted to set things right.

* * *

><p>As she finished up the last of her food and was preparing to leave, Anna noticed Felicia entering the restaurant. When Felicia saw her, they locked eyes; Anna knew something was up. Felicia changed direction and made a bee-line for Anna's table. "I'm so glad I ran into you," she said, a bit too cheerily; "maybe you can clear something up for me." Felicia sat down and Anna's heart sank. "So, just about an hour ago I ran into Duke by the waterfront and we started chatting, and I mentioned that Mac and I were thinking about holding a little party to celebrate Robin's return and Robert's recovery, and I asked him if you and he might be free next Saturday, and he told me that he had no idea about you, but that he wouldn't be free, and that he wished Robert Scorpio were still in a coma. What gives?"<p>

Anna grimaced, forced a smile, and finally sighed. What to tell Felicia? She decided on a version of the truth, leaving out the business about the mob.

When Anna was finished explaining, Felicia's mouth hung open. "You and Robert?" she gasped, then grinned. "Oh my god—I can't wait to tell Mac. He won't believe it." She took Anna's hands. "I, for one, am delighted. I had a front-row seat to your flirtations back-in-the- day; sometimes I just wanted to lock the two of you in a room together until you finally acknowledged what everyone else could see." Felicia beamed. "You know, it'll be great—you and Robert, me and Mac, family dinners, maybe weekends away. Oh—we could all go on a cruise together!"

Anna was trying hard not to show her horror when Robert walked into the restaurant. Felicia turned, saw him, and broke into a wide, dazzling smile. He walked over to their table, completely unsuspecting.

He half-asked, half-exclaimed, "Now aren't I lucky, running in to the two best-looking women on the waterfront!" and leaned over to kiss Felicia on the cheek.

"Don't forget to kiss Anna too, Robert," she instructed, and then got up. "I'll leave you two alone. I have to go find Mac." She practically ran out of Kelly's.

"What was that about?" Robert asked.

"I'm afraid the cat's out of the bag," Anna answered. "Felicia knows that Duke and I have split, and you and I are—together."

Robert made a show of thinking. "Oh. I guess I hadn't thought about when and how the information would be disseminated. Looks like it will be via Port Chuck's town crier."

Anna laughed.

"What about that thing we kind of arranged that we thought might happen today," Robert asked. "Did it?"

Anna shook her head. "No. Not our fault, though. We tried." Then she asked, "Why are you here? Did you come to check up on me?"

Robert smiled. "Pure coincidence, actually: I'm meeting one of my women from the file here, Elizabeth Beaty. Does the name ring a bell?"

"Yeah, the husband's high school friend. When is she coming?"

"Momentarily," Robert answered. "I'd better get a table."

Anna began to collect her things. "Good luck. If you find out anything interesting, I'll be in the office for the rest of the afternoon. If I don't see you there, I'll see you—later?"

Robert smiled, gave her a peck on the cheek, and went off to claim a table closer to the counter.

Anna was about to leave when her phone rang. It was Dante, keeping her abreast of yet another lead that had, disappointingly, dissolved into complete nothingness. By the time the call was over and Anna looked back up, a tall and extremely striking blonde had walked into Kelly's and was looking around the tables, obviously searching someone out. Anna saw Robert raise his hand and stand in recognition (Anna remembered that he had seen photos of Elizabeth Beaty); the blonde smiled and sauntered over, offering him her hand. They shook, and Robert invited her to sit.

Anna was intrigued. She decided to watch the interview from a distance—at least for a short time.

"So nice to meet you, Mr. Scorpio," Elizabeth told him. "I'm intrigued that the PCPD is investigating Carolyn's case again. I've always thought there was more to her disappearance. I know Stephen never believed that she'd left him of her own accord."

While Elizabeth was speaking, Robert was noting with some amazement that she'd barely aged since 1998, judging by the photo he'd seen of her and Carolyn on the beach. She was either genetically blessed or could afford very good work. "Well, Ms. Beaty, as I explained on the phone, this investigation is partly routine. We just want to ensure that we haven't missed something important."

"Please, call me Elizabeth," she invited. "And may I call you-?"

"Robert," he offered. "And I want to say that we do appreciate you giving us your time. I only have a few questions, really."

Elizabeth smiled. "Fire away."

For some reason, Robert felt a bit unnerved. "First of all, do you remember the days leading up to Carolyn's disappearance? Did you see her or Stephen? Do you recall anything unusual occurring?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, nothing unusual. I did see Carolyn two days before she went missing. We all met for drinks—Stephen , she, Alan, and I."

"This is going to sound a bit odd," Robert began, "but do you remember what Carolyn drank?"

Elizabeth laughed. "No, I'm afraid not. I didn't pay that much attention. She usually drank wine, but on occasion she'd order something else—maybe a beer if it was a hot day, or a martini if she was feeling elegant and erudite."

"Was it alcoholic?" Robert pressed further.

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "Honestly I can't remember. Next question?"

* * *

><p>Anna decided that she couldn't leave now. She pulled out her compact (something she, in fact, only rarely used to check her make-up) and settled in to watch the strange interaction between Robert and his blonde.<p>

* * *

><p>"How would you describe your relationship with Carolyn, Elizabeth" Robert asked. "Were you close friends? I know that you have more of a history with Stephen."<p>

Elizabeth considered her answer carefully. "Carolyn was—and is, I hope—a lovely woman. I enjoyed her company, and we had a lot of laughs together. She was always very kind to me, and I think she was good for my friend Stephen. But I don't think I would describe us as 'close.' Maybe we were very good acquaintances."

"And your relationship with Stephen—was it always platonic? Were you never more than friends?"

Again, Elizabeth reflected before she answered. "I never thought of _him_ as anything but a friend."

Robert smiled, encouraging her to explain further.

"I can't really speak for him. But I suppose I have to admit it crossed my mind more than once that he might have been interested in a romantic, or at least sexual, relationship with me. But that was before Carolyn, when we were much younger."

"How did Stephen and Carolyn get on with your husband Alan?"

"Ex-husband," Elizabeth corrected quickly, saying the word with some distaste. "Our marriage ended fourteen years ago."

"Ended?" Robert asked. "Perhaps this is a bit personal, but why?"

"Alan left me. He just up and disappeared one night while I was away on a business trip. I came back and there was a note—very vague, and very cold. Some of his clothes were gone, a few of his things, half of our bank account. I never heard from him again. I had to wait a year before I could apply for a divorce on the basis of abandonment. It was humiliating."

"I'm very sorry," Robert offered. "I guess that answers my next question: I was going to ask to speak to Alan, but I gather you don't know how to contact him."

Elizabeth's eyes sparked. "No I don't. But if you manage to find the bastard, I'd appreciate it if you passed that information on. I have a few choice words for the son-of-a-bitch."

Robert made a show of hesitation, though he felt no compunction about asking the next question. "Elizabeth, I have to ask, did Alan in his short, vague note give any hint why he left you?"

Elizabeth pressed her lips together. "No," she answered, "not in the note. But I knew why he'd left. It was a long-standing difference of opinion. He wanted to have children. I didn't. I guess you could say it was an irreconcilable difference. But he took the coward's way out. He should have stayed and ended things like a man. Instead he skulked away and made my life hell for the next twelve months."

* * *

><p>Anna watched as the interview ended. Elizabeth stood up, followed by Robert. They shook hands again. Elizabeth laughed, threw her head back, flashed Robert a perfect smile. Before walking to the door she reached out, touched Robert's shoulder, and smiled again. Then she was gone. Anna watched Elizabeth's perfect ass figure-eight itself out the door.<p>

Robert was scribbling down his notes. Anna stood, walked slowly over to the table, and sat down in the seat Elizabeth had vacated. "Hello, Robert."

Robert started. "Anna! What are you doing here? I thought you'd left."

Anna smiled. "You were so absorbed in your conversation that you didn't notice I'd stayed. I was watching you Robert. Once the interview started, I couldn't look away. I didn't hear a blessed thing, but I found it all very enlightening."

Robert put down his pen and smiled. "So, enlighten _me_. What did you notice?"

Anna leaned across the table and spoke in a hushed tone. "That woman has studied and studies how to be sexy. Her moves are by the book. And she has access to a lot of money—her hair and clothes are impeccable, and she's had some impressive plastic surgery done."

Robert picked up his pen and tapped it energetically on his notepad. "Look, look—the surgery bit's already noted here. I can spot saline implants and collagen injections at ten paces. What else have you got for me, Devane?"

"She was very subtly and skillfully mirroring you. When you leaned on the table, she leaned on the table; when you leaned back in your chair, she leaned back in her chair; when you crossed your arms, she crossed her arms."

Robert smiled. "Your point?"

"Well, when someone we're talking to mirrors our behaviour, we naturally feel more comfortable and relaxed in their presence, and we feel an instinctive, subconscious attraction. It's kind of a narcissistic impulse; it's like we're attracted to ourselves in the other person. It's really hard to resist."

Robert leaned back in his chair. "So what do you conclude from Elizabeth Beaty's observed behaviour?"

Anna didn't lean back but leaned forward. "She was mirroring you for one of three possible reasons. First reason: she was mirroring you unconsciously because she finds you irresistibly attractive."

Robert threw down his pen and threw up his hands. "There's our answer. It's perfectly obvious. We don't need to look further."

Anna continued. "Second reason: she was consciously mirroring you because she finds you attractive and she wants to seduce you."

Robert cocked his head to one side and deliberated this interpretation. "Well, that's also possible. I was maybe a bit too hasty, latching on to the very first explanation you offered."

Anna concluded, "Third reason: she was consciously mirroring you because she wants you to like her and to trust her. She wants to get you 'on side': she's trying to manipulate you, but not just to get you in bed."

Robert considered this last theory. "Less likely, but still, it's a caution. My gut was already telling me to be careful around this woman."

"I used basic psychology; you used your gut. However we reached it, we came to the same conclusion."

Robert smiled. "You observed the dance of sexual attraction, but you didn't hear the content of the conversation. I have some potentially significant information to share with you. Why don't I walk you back to the office and fill you in?"

* * *

><p>"Carolyn was likely pregnant when she disappeared," Anna reviewed, "and Alan left his wife a few months after because, according to Elizabeth, he wanted to have children but she didn't. That does seem like a remarkable coincidence."<p>

They were almost back at the station and so had stopped to finish their conversation in private by the water.

"Could Alan have been the person Carolyn was talking to on the phone? Could she have confided in him about the pregnancy? I thought you said Stephen described Alan and Carolyn's relationship as not overly familiar?"

"Well," Robert explained, "he was a bit defensive. He insisted that Carolyn and Alan weren't close, and that she repeatedly told Stephen that Alan was a lesser version of him. It sounds to me like Stephen suffered from some serious insecurity. He said his wife 'humoured' him in this, and that his anxiety was his own personal issue. But as the saying goes, just because you're paranoid, it doesn't mean they aren't really out to get you. Maybe Stephen was insecure around Alan for a reason."

"Okay," Anna's arms were crossed, "let's say Carolyn and Alan were, in fact, close—were more than friends, were maybe even intimate. Why would she be happy and excited to tell _him_ that she was pregnant with her husband's child? It doesn't make sense."

Robert considered. "Well, maybe because she knew he wanted to have children himself—they shared that desire, that hope. He was someone who could really understand her excitement."

Anna hugged herself against the cold. "I suppose. I suppose that's possible."

"Or," Robert offered further, "and I'm getting really creative here, maybe she was excited to tell him because it wasn't her husband's child. It was Alan's."

Anna shot him a skeptical look. "How do you figure that?"

"Maybe she was sleeping with both of them and she suspected, or even knew, that the baby was her lover's, not Stephen's. I assume that's possible?"

Now it was Anna's turn to consider. "I suppose it could be. Carolyn could have been using birth control with Stephen and not using it with Alan. If she were, she could be almost completely certain who the father was."

"And she could have done this without Stephen knowing?"

Anna smiled at Robert, unsure if he were pulling her leg. "Well, there would be clues a careful and suspicious mind might notice."

"Such as?"

"Good grief, Robert," Anna laughed in disbelief. "Do you really need me to explain the mysteries of female birth control?"

Robert looked flustered. "Well, I know there are a number of options . . ."

"But you don't understand how a woman could let a man think she was trying to conceive when she wasn't?"

"Well obviously she could take birth-control pills, but then she couldn't conceive with another man."

"Well reasoned, Robert. What about other methods?"

Robert looked sheepish now. "Well, an IUD is implanted . . ."

"Very good, so with that method we have the same problem as with pills. But there are others."

"Rhythm?" Robert asked, hopeful.

"Too unreliable," Anna answered, shaking her head "That leaves something inserted—a sponge, a diaphragm. Carolyn could have used one of these."

"What would be the clues?" Robert asked.

Anna took a deep breath. "Okay, Robert, when we first got back together—think back to the day of the earthquake, and to all of our encounters after that—what did I always do before we became intimate?"

Robert smiled, remembering. "You looked me up and down and licked your lips."

Anna laughed. "Okay, I probably did do that, but it wasn't prophylactic. What else did I always do? What did I do every single time?"

Robert took her hand. "You slipped into something more comfortable. You put on less clothing."

Anna squeezed his hand. "Yes I did. And after I did that, while I was still in the bathroom, I put in my diaphragm. Did the whole birth control thing simply slip your notice? Didn't you concern yourself about it ever?"

"It certainly slipped my mind when we first fell in love."

"Ah, yes," Anna gritted her teeth. "Well, I wasn't always disappearing into the bathroom then, was I? I was young and naive and completely unprepared to fall in love with and sleep with my partner—my much older but, unfortunately, not more mature, partner. And that's why and when we conceived our fabulous daughter."

"I wouldn't change that for the world," Robert murmured.

"Nor would I, obviously, but I learned my lesson." Anna suddenly thought of something else and snatched her hand back from Robert. "Good grief—what about all the other women you were in relationships with, Robert? Holly, Cheryl, Katherine—did you always put the onus on your partners to take care of the family planning? And what about the women you've been with since me?"

Robert gently took back her hand. "I'll admit, before we got back together, I was perhaps a bit irresponsible. Once we found our way back to each other, I thought about nothing except how much I loved you and wanted you, and I would have been delighted if we'd had another child. And then after we were separated again, it didn't matter."

"Didn't matter? That sounds awfully melodramatic, Robert."

"It didn't matter," he explained, "because birth control wasn't the most important thing. I couldn't imagine being with someone again long-term. So protection was a given. No secret birth control in the age of HIV; only safe sex. The subject couldn't be avoided. And there was only one option."

Anna found herself feeling very sorry that he hadn't found someone special during all the years they'd spent apart.

Robert brought them back to the subject at hand. "So, you're saying that Carolyn could have used a diaphragm when she was with Stephen and not used one with Alan. What kinds of clues might or might not Stephen have picked up on?"

"Well," Anna explained, "Carolyn would have to insert the diaphragm; she could do this up to six hours before having sex, but most women nip off to the bathroom to do it immediately before. She'd have to leave it in for six hours after, to make sure nothing got past the barrier. And she'd have to remove it within twelve hours. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to tell she had one in."

"It sounds possible then."

"Yes," Anna agreed, "but it's beyond hypothetical. I don't know how we could even begin to prove it. You need a prescription to get a diaphragm, so I suppose we could try to get her medical records opened. But even if she were prescribed one, she might have been using it before they decided to get pregnant. I'm not sure what our next move should be."

"We could try to find Alan," Robert suggested. "Elizabeth told me that he disappeared, but unless he's a professional, he must have left some kind of trace. If we can find him, we can ask him about his relationship with Carolyn."

Anna looked sombre. "If we find Alan, it's possible that we might find Carolyn. Maybe our gut feeling was wrong. Maybe she did leave her husband for her lover."

"Stephen and Carolyn are not us, Anna," Robert reminded her. He noticed that her coffee cup was empty. He took it from her and threw it in a near-by garbage can. Then he put his arm through hers and gently drew her again in the direction of the station. "Now, I've got to get you back to work because at 6:00 sharp I'm picking you up for our date. Make sure you clean up your inbox and fill up your outbox, because I'm going to want your undivided attention tonight."


	11. Chapter 11

Robert was as good as his word: he was at Anna's office not one minute later than he'd promised. He knocked, opened the door, found her seated at her desk. She looked up and smiled—he thought she looked incredibly sexy in her reading glasses—and asked for one more minute. "I'm almost done. Just reviewing a final document. Then I'm all yours."

She looked down again, concentrated. Her forehead creased between her brows, then the muscles released. She picked up her pen, scribbled her signature, removed her glasses and put them on her desk, stood up. "One more minute," she sighed. I'll just pass this on to my assistant." Robert smiled and nodded.

She was gone. He walked up to the desk and looked around. Robert thought how much he would have hated this office when he was commissioner. There wasn't one bloody window. He grudgingly admitted that it was perhaps more secure; after all, his office had had a window—through which a bomb had been lobbed, almost killing him. But Anna's office felt like a glorified cubicle. He wondered how she could stand it. After just a few minutes, Robert felt claustrophobic and wanted to flee.

And then she was back. "6:06," she announced; "not too bad." She walked up to him and shyly took his hand. "So, Mr. Scorpio, what do you have planned for us tonight?"

"Well," Robert smiled, "I thought it would be fun to do some of the things we used to like to do back-in-the-day. But we've actually done most of them already. We used to like dancing."

"Which we did on New Year's Eve," Anna acknowledged.

"Exactly. I remember we used to like drinking quite a lot . . ."

Anna laughed. "And we got drunk together, or at least tipsy, on the same occasion."

"We used to like working together. I wouldn't categorize our current investigation as a 'caper,' exactly, but we are doing a bit of sleuthing. I know I'm enjoying the old 'back-and-forth' with you. "

"We always made a good team," Anna agreed. "And I'm glad we're partners again."

"I remember that we ate all the time: you were always bringing me food, and we always went out for meals. We had _my_ favourite meal recently; I have what I hope is something special for you waiting in the car."

"We certainly did enjoy our food," Anna admitted. "I assume you've tried to put together my favourite meal. I wonder what that might be."

"I also remember that we dressed up a lot, wore a lot of disguises—hats, wigs, outrageous outfits. You'd almost think it was a fetish."

"Oh, I _loved _the costumes," Anna sighed dreamily. "When we hid out from the DVX with the hostage by pretending we were chefs. I thought we'd stand out in those ridiculous hats, but they didn't suspect a thing. You know, I thought I looked quite good as a blonde, and more than passable as a redhead." Anna guffawed. "The moustache you wore when we followed Helena Cassadine to Mount Rushmore was absolutely atrocious. And your American accent was even worse. What were you thinking?"

"What were you thinking, wearing those impractical red boots? And who the hell were you supposed to be at the Halloween Party at Dellafield's? You never did explain that little number. I was at least identifiable as Clyde Barrow."

Anna was embarrassed. "And Kate was Bonnie Parker, remember? I didn't have a date; I wasn't half of some cute couple. And if you must know, I wasn't trying to be anyone specific. I was just trying to be a beautiful blonde. I think subconsciously I was trying to compete with Kate for your attention."

Robert was quiet. He took Anna's other hand. "You did look beautiful. I noticed, you know. On that night, and on more than one occasion before and after, I think we were both guilty of feeling—confused about the nature of our relationship, what it was and should be." He paused, then smiled and swung her hands back and forth gently. "So, shall we put dressing up on our 'to-do' list?"

Anna smiled seductively. "We shall. I'll prepare my tickle trunk."

Robert looked at her, unsure. "I don't know what that is, but I like the sound of it."

Anna grinned. "Sorry—an obscure pop culture reference from my time in Canada. Ignore me."

"Impossible," Robert whispered.

Anna took a step closer to Robert. She wrapped his hands around her waist and moved her own up to his shoulders. "You've forgotten one thing we used to like to do. The thing we enjoyed most of all, in fact. And something we haven't done in quite a long time."

"I'm not sure what you mean, Anna. You'll have to remind me."

She did.

"Yes," Robert agreed, "I remember that was our favourite thing. I remember it very well. I definitely have it on my list of things to do tonight. But later."

Anna's eyes flashed as she moved her hand to Robert's lips and wiped an imaginary lipstick stain from his mouth. Robert smiled and kissed her fingers. She broke their embrace and walked behind her desk to her office closet. She retrieved her coat, put it on, slung her bag over her shoulder, and collected a black piece of carry-on luggage—as promised, this time Anna was prepared. She closed the closet door and turned to face Robert. "Well?" she asked. "Are we finally ready?"

Robert walked up to meet her and took the luggage from her. "If we're not ready by now, god help us, Devane."

As they left the station, Anna's assistant frowned at her. "What's with the luggage, Commissioner? You're not leaving town, are you? I don't have that noted in my schedule."

"Don't worry, Mr. Rubin," Anna called out behind her; "I'll see you tomorrow morning. I may be a bit late, but I'll be here."

* * *

><p>Their first stop was the waterfront. They walked to their favourite pier, still relatively unchanged from how they remembered it. Robert had retrieved a bag from his car. He put it down and pulled out a styrofoam container, and from there pulled two lemon Italian ices. Anna's mouth fell open. "Robert, where on earth did you find Italian ice in the dead of winter?"<p>

Robert smiled. "I still have contacts in this city. I pulled a few strings."

Anna took one with her gloved hand. "You know this is absolutely insane. It's really cold out here. This may be the death of me."

"Don't be so melodramatic," Robert ordered. "Eat up."

They stood smiling at each other, laughing, and eating their ices until Anna began to shiver uncontrollably. "I'd do just about anything for you, Robert, but I'm freezing. I can't eat any more."

"I came prepared," he answered, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a silver flask and traded it for Anna's ice. "A little fire to go with your ice. Take a swig—it's good for you. It'll warm you back up."

Anna laughed, surreptitiously took the flask, opened its top. "You know, I've heard alcohol consumption worsens hypothermia." She took a small swig.

"Well then," Robert said, throwing the last of the lemon ice away, "we'd better get your blood back into circulation to warm you up. Walk with me."

They walked arm in arm against a biting wind back to the Port Charles Hotel, he carrying his bag, she dragging her bag, its wheels clicking and jumping on the uneven pavement.

* * *

><p>Once they arrived, Robert asked Anna to stop at the lounge and order a bottle of red wine for their dinner. "I'll nip upstairs with your bag and get the food ready," he told her. Before he got into the elevator, he leaned over and kissed her slowly, meaningfully. When he pulled away, Anna smiled, reached up and touched his cheek.<p>

All of this was observed, at a distance, by Ava Jerome, who was just then leaving the lounge after meeting with one of Julian's associates. She froze in her tracks. This was, she noted, a new development. She slunk around the corner and hurried from the hotel, pulling out her cell phone. Julian needed to be informed.

Once the elevator door closed, Anna walked to the lounge and approached the bar. Looking at the wine list she was flummoxed, had no idea what to order, had no idea what they were eating. What had been her favourite meal when she and Robert were still together? She'd have to choose something at random and hope for the best. The bartender promised her selection would be sent up to Robert's room as quickly as possible.

Anna walked back to the elevator, waited, stepped in when it arrived, waited for the door to close, waited for it to travel five floors. Her mouth was dry; her stomach felt hollow; she chewed her lip. She wasn't exactly sure why she felt so nervous; she was going to be with Robert, after all, the one man she'd always felt at home with, the one man she'd always felt herself with. She suspected her feelings reflected the importance of this moment. She and Robert had to get it right this time. So much was riding on this evening. She couldn't face going back now, losing him again, being alone again. She was tired of being without him. She'd realized this with painful clarity over the past week.

When she reached Robert's door, she hesitated for a moment. And then she knocked quietly. The door opened; Robert peeked around. "Who is it?"

"I think you're expecting me," she answered. He smiled, and the door swung wide open.

Spread out before her on the (she had to note, none-too-pristine) carpet of the hotel room was a picnic blanket laden with plates of cheese, sausage, an impressive-looking baguette (where on earth had he found it? It looked better than anything she'd found in Port Charles), and an assortment of olives, fruit. Anna stood in the door and admired. "It's lovely, Robert. A real Franco-Italian picnic feast. You remembered all my favourites." Actually, she realised, they'd all been her favourites twenty-five years ago—before she'd discovered sushi. Of course, there was no reason to tell him any of this right now.

And this thought suddenly made her wonder if Robert still liked Chinese food as much as he had, or if he now had a new favourite. There was so much they needed to learn about each other's lives in the present.

Robert took her coat and helped her sit down. He then (a bit creakily) joined her on the floor. Just as he sat down, there was a knock at the door. He (a bit stiffly) rose to his feet, collected the wine, and sat down again. "Crikey," he remarked. "That's not as easy as it used to be. I'm sure it's just an after-effect of the coma. Can't possibly be anything else."

He opened the wine, poured two glasses. They toasted, clinked rims. Anna tore off bread for both of them and buttered it thickly. Everything was delicious, and they talked as they ate, mainly reminiscing. Robert recalled his nerves on the night they spent in the "no-tell motel," when he'd asked her to remarry him. He laughed when he remembered their attempts to avoid Lord Ashton during their honeymoon in Paris.

"Whatever happened to my barber's chair?" Robert asked Anna as he refilled her glass. "I've often wondered about that."

Anna smiled. "You'd have to ask Mac. He inherited all of our things in trust for Robin when we died."

"I have fond memories of that chair," Robert told her.

"When I bought it for you," Anna admitted, "I didn't realize the uses we would put it to. I thought it would just be an interesting conversation piece, not a marital aid."

Robert looked lost in thought. Anna put down her wine glass. "Robert, I've noticed that when we're together we spend a lot of time thinking and talking about the past."

Robert met her gaze. "We do. Our past was wonderful."

Anna drew in her legs to sit cross-legged and shifted her body to face him more directly. "It was. It was incredible. But at times it was also painful and difficult—we forget those times. We were separated for years; we were with other people. After our first seven-year estrangement, at times we struggled to relate to and to trust each other as friends. We'd hurt and we continued to hurt each other terribly. And our lives were frequently in danger."

"That intensity," Robert explained, "is part of what made our past so incredible. We never did anything by half. It was full-on or nothing."

Anna took his hand. "Yes. And recently we've been, in a sense, reliving the past, with Faison and Obrecht, and with Robin's kidnapping. But we can't live in the past. We have to live in the present. We need to be who we are now with each other. We can't expect ourselves to be who we were. Does this make sense?"

A memory flashed into Robert's mind, though he couldn't for the life of him remember the context: of Luke Spenser telling him the past was killing him; of Sean Donnelly telling him that he had to accept the loss of his youth with grace.

"Anna," he confessed, "I think about the past a lot: our past, my past. I think about Robert Scorpio—who he was, not so much who he is now." Robert looked down. "When we were first together, and even when we remarried, I never thought twice about our age difference. You were so oddly mature for your age, and I was, let's face it, pretty immature. But now I think about it. I can't avoid thinking about it. You're still so young, so beautiful. I have trouble getting up and down from the floor. And when I look in the mirror, I can't help but worry that I've become an old man."

Anna shook her head. "I don't see you that way. I'll never see you that way. When I look at you I see only Robert Scorpio, because that's who you were and that's who you are still. You don't seem old." She laughed. "And you're still immature. I still find you impossibly attractive. What I'm telling you is that I want to know and love you as the man you are today, as well as the man you were. I want to reminisce about the past but also hear about your present, and about the time since we were forced to be apart. I want it all."

Robert kissed her hand. "Okay," he promised. "You'll get it all. But not right now. Because all I want at this moment is you. I can't wait any longer." And he leaned over and kissed her.

* * *

><p>They managed to extricate themselves from the floor and from the blanket without knocking anything over, an impressive achievement given their sudden, frantic need for each other. Anna pushed Robert down onto the bed, her hands tugging at his shirt, pulling it free from the waist of his jeans; she began to unbutton it, working down from the collar. One of his buttons snapped free, flew across the room. "Sorry, sorry" she muttered between kisses; "I'll have that taken care of, I promise." She rolled Robert to his side, tried to pull off his shirt; his hand caught in the sleeve. "Shit, another button," she laughed and licked her lips. "And now it's inside out. Help me, Robert." He rolled back; they turned the sleeve right side out again; Anna inspected the button, worked it free. Robert's arm was liberated. Anna tried to free the other, but Robert flipped her over so that he was on top, kissed her hard. She demanded his hand, unbuttoned his cuff; he threw his shirt off into the corner of the room and grinned down at her. Her hands moved down to his belt, but Robert stopped her. He reached for the buttons of her shirt. "Everything equal," he insisted.<p>

His fingers felt large and clumsy on the delicate buttons, but he managed to work them loose as he leaned over and kissed Anna's neck. He used his hand to push back the fabric of her shirt; he lifted her shoulders and chest up off the bed and slid her arms free. She fell back and looked up at him; he stared down at her and exhaled heavily. He leaned himself over her, supporting his weight with his arms extended straight. "You are beautiful," he sighed.

In short order they shed the last of their clothing. Anna flipped herself back up on top, pressed Robert onto the bed with both hands, and gazed down at him. They stared at each other, then smiled, and Anna bent down to kiss Robert tenderly on the mouth. For the first time since the last time, they made love.

* * *

><p>When they'd had sex in the past, it hadn't been formulaic. They'd been inventive lovers, and always had fun. But their encounters, wherever and however they occurred and whatever they included, had generally started with Anna assuming power and ended with Robert taking over control, and their lovemaking this time, even after so many years, followed the same pattern. Robert initially allowed Anna to set the pace, to tease him and to build momentum until he couldn't stand it any longer and he had to take over. And, as had been the case years ago, when it was over, both were physically completely spent. Beads of sweat had collected on Robert's brow and on Anna's upper lip; both were breathing heavily.<p>

"Good god, Robert, what were you saying about feeling old? I thought I'd remembered how intense you were as a lover, but that—that was unexpected."

Robert smiled. "You bring out the best in me, Devane. I hate to admit it, but that was exceptional. It hasn't been like that in years."

Anna rolled to her side and looked him in the eye. "Maybe it won't be exceptional now that you're with me. Maybe what we just did will set a new standard."

She rolled back onto the bed. They lay flat on their backs, panting, reached for each other's hands, and started to laugh.

* * *

><p>After, they got up and ate a bit more, drank a bit more wine, and cleaned up the remains of their picnic. As they worked, they intentionally brushed up against each other, caught each other's hands, met each other's gazes, and smiled satisfied smiles. Robert slapped Anna's ass while she was delicately balancing one of the wine glasses on a stack of cardboard food containers she was carrying, trying to multitask; she sent back a flying kick, catching him on the shin without upsetting the leftovers or the glass.<p>

When the room was clean, they met each other again on the bed. In the small suite, there wasn't really anywhere else to go or to be. "Hotel living," Anna sighed, "is for the birds. I've already given my notice. I can't stay at the Metro Court now that I know I'm being monitored."

"Where will you go?" Robert asked, pulling her back to lean on him, wrapping one arm around her, taking her hand with his other hand and holding it in his lap.

"I have absolutely no idea," she admitted. "All I know is that I need to be somewhere private."

"That rules out staying with Robin and Patrick," Robert warned. "Whatever you do, promise me you won't resort to that. It was hard enough finding opportunities to be intimate when she was a teenager and fairly clueless; it'll be impossible now that she's an adult and extremely suspicious." A pause. "You know, you're always welcome to stay here."

Anna smiled. "The odd night, sure; for a few hours, yes; but if we want to start this relationship out right, we can't suddenly overwhelm each other. We need our space." She slouched down a bit and rested her head on Robert's chest. "It'll all work out. I'll think of something."

* * *

><p>Before they realized, it was after 11:00. Robert stumbled off to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and Anna followed after. They met back in bed, yawning like an old married couple. Anna crawled under the sheets as Robert was setting the alarm. "What time do you want to get up?" he asked.<p>

"I said I'd be a bit late, so I'll get up at 7:00."

"So I should set the alarm for 6:00?" Robert asked, smiling as he fiddled with the buttons.

"Sounds about right," Anna answered sleepily, turning over on her side. "That should be enough time."


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks to everyone who's reading and to everyone who's written a review. And special thanks to everyone else who's written R and A fan fiction on this site!

* * *

><p>Before Anna left for the office, they discussed Robert's next moves on the case.<p>

"I'd like to try to trace the money Alan took out of his and Elizabeth's bank account," Robert told Anna. "Is there anyone at the PCPD who specializes in that kind of thing?"

Anna put on her coat. "No, we consult with a forensic accountant in New York. She's very good, better than anyone we could afford to keep on staff."

"Right. I'll start with her, then. I suppose I could also call in a few favours at the WSB if need be."

Anna arranged her scarf. "You'll need Elizabeth Beaty to authorize access to her accounts. We don't have anything to bring before a judge to get a warrant. If she doesn't invite us in, we can't enter."

"Vampire rules. I get it. I promise everything will be completely above-board."

Anna smiled. "What an odd reversal of roles—me telling you not to play dirty."

"And me encouraging you _to_ play dirty."

"On that subject, thank you for last night. And this morning."

Robert smiled and kissed her. "It takes two." He noticed that Anna's expression was slightly strained. "But?"

Anna shook her head slowly. "I feel like I _have_ played dirty. I feel as though I've cheated on Duke."

Robert put his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. "Who do you love?"

Anna put her hands around Robert's waist. "Both of you. But you differently, always—and you more. Always. I know I'm where I'm supposed to be. I expect the guilt will dissipate eventually."

Robert kissed her on the forehead. "Lavery doesn't deserve you."

Anna smiled. "Yes, well, for most of our history I didn't deserve you. So the three of us chased each other round and around."

Robert shrugged. "It's not like that anymore. I had to discard my naive notions of right and wrong a long time ago."

"As you've apparently discarded your adherence to normal workday patterns," Anna observed, noting his state of dishabille, "such as when one should start one's day and arrive at the office."

"I'll be in later," Robert promised. "Remember, I'm only a consultant, not the head cheese."

"Such a flattering metaphor," Anna laughed. "I'm out of here. I expect you to show up for work at some point today."

* * *

><p>At the Metro Court restaurant, Ava was sitting across from Julian. They were discussing what Ava had seen the previous night. "Anna Devane and Robert Scorpio together again," Julian mused. "I wonder what that could be about."<p>

Ava sipped her coffee and stared at Julian over the rim of her cup. "'Together again'? What's the history there, Julian? Remember, I'm a bastard and therefore ignorant. I know they had a child together but nothing else."

Julian smiled. "I don't know anything from before Devane showed up in Port Charles. 'Dad' and I were only interested when her connection to the police commissioner became obvious. She arrived in town, caused problems in his marriage; he left town, came back, caused problems in her relationship with Lavery. He was the one who first proved Lavery's connection to the mob. Devane was humiliated and left him."

"And got back together with Mr. Scorpio?"

"No. Eventually she reconciled with Duke. They got married."

"Even though he was a criminal?"

"She thought he'd gotten out. But he hadn't, really. Anyway, to make a long story short, Duke and Anna eventually plotted to take us down. Duke betrayed us, testified against us, was put in the witness protection program. A warehouse blew up, Anna Devane thought her husband was dead."

"And she and Mr. Scorpio got back together?"

"No. Well, not immediately. Robert Scorpio had a string of other lovers first. Ms. Devane played the part of grieving widow to Lavery and too-loyal ex-wife to Scorpio. "

Ava grinned and put down her coffee cup, wiping a lipstick stain from the rim with her finger. "Scorpio sounds like every man I've ever known: he discards a woman but objects to anyone else sniffing around. My sympathies are firmly with Ms. Devane."

Julian smiled, drained his cup, put it down. "You're missing the point, Ava. We're not a couple of fishwives gossiping here. We're not just shooting the shit over breakfast. Let's examine the facts: we have Anna Devane, Robert Scorpio, and Duke Lavery in a now-resolved love triangle. Duke is out; Robert is in. Given the history of these individuals, what might this mean?"

Ava gave Julian a withering look. "I'm not missing your point, Julian. You think Anna and Duke split because Duke is involved with Sonny."

"Give that lady a prize."

Ava leaned over the table. "I understand your interpretation of events. But I can offer you a woman's perspective on the whole thing. Scorpio and Devane's reunion may have nothing to do with Duke. You give ten women the chance to be with either Mr. Lavery or Mr. Scorpio, and, believe me, nine will choose Scorpio without a moment's hesitation."

Julian shook his head and scoffed.

"Don't forget, Julian," she told him, "I saw them together last night. And I've seen Devane and Lavery together. In my humble, ignorant opinion, there's no comparison."

Julian folded his hands on the table. "I appreciate your input, Sis, but I think the circumstantial evidence suggests Duke's involvement with Corinthos. I think it's time to prepare our next move."

* * *

><p>When Anna arrived at the office, Detective Falconeri was already at his desk, head in hand. "It's going that well?" Anna asked Dante.<p>

Dante shook his head in despair. "Every lead I follow is a dead end. And that's if I'm lucky, if I make any progress at all—most of the time I just circle around back to where I started. We're no further ahead now than a week ago."

Anna smiled grimly. "That's not true. We know Duke is involved in some way. I suspect he could be our 'in.' He was quite good at mob business twenty-five years ago, but he's been out of it for a long time and is likely rusty. I want you to keep a close eye on his movements and his business dealings. I'll check into this consortium that owns the building Duke's leasing. There's something odd about it."

"Okay, Commissioner. I'll concentrate on Lavery. I'll find out what I can about the club—when it's opening, who'll be working there, any storage facilities Duke's leasing."

Anna nodded. "Good." She paused a moment. "And also keep an eye on Julian and Ava Jerome. Let me know if you see them anywhere near Duke's club and business, literally or figuratively. Something's brewing, and I have a bad feeling it's more serious than a skirmish between a has-been crime lord and the current head mafioso of a minor port city."

* * *

><p>Duke and Sonny stared at each other over the latter's desk. "The shipment's been dealt with?"<p>

Duke nodded. "It's somewhere appropriately difficult but not impossible to locate. Julian will have some trouble finding it, but he will."

Sonny's hands were pressed together; he tapped his index fingers against his lips. "Okay. We have to hope he's made the connection. All signs point to us. And now you need to stay away from me. Far away. We know certain individuals are currently on the move. If the people you're working for find out about our arrangement, we're both in a lot of trouble, but you more than me. You're likely dead." Sonny paused for effect. "I have my organization to protect me, but I can't promise you anything. You knew this going in; I just want to make sure you remember, accept it, and aren't having second thoughts."

Duke looked grim. "None at all. No matter the cost I'm taking the bastard down."

Sonny smiled cruelly. "Just make sure you keep me informed about everything. My person's in place at Kelly's; coded messages on paper or in conversation; no phones, no email. The bastards won't expect anything old-school, but they'll try to monitor your electronics if something makes them suspicious."

Duke nodded, and the two men stood up. Sonny reached out his hand and they shook. "One last thing, Duke. Make sure you have an escape plan, just in case everything goes to hell. We're inviting in the Devil. I'll prepare the eventual exorcism, but until that time comes, you'll have to kiss his ass. If all goes well, once everything's said and done, Julian and his sister will be dead, not by our hands, and no one will ever try to move in on my territory again. If all goes badly . . ." Sonny didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

Duke turned on his heel and left.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth Beaty was stretched out on the bed in her luxurious Metro Court penthouse suite, her laptop appropriately in lap as she randomly clicked on search hits, lazily reading newspaper articles and (this was completely unexpected) mournful obituaries. Her phone rang. She picked it up without turning her gaze from the computer screen. "Hello, Elizabeth Beaty speaking," she purred. "How may I help you?" She smiled broadly. "Hello again." A pause. "Yes." Another pause. "Yes, of course." A third pause. "Anything I can do to help. I'll call my bank right away to authorize your investigation, and if you need anything signed, I'm still in Port Charles, staying at the Metro Court."<p>

Silence. Then Elizabeth laughed. "Yes, I can be very accommodating, Robert, when I have reason to be. Just let me know if you need anything else." A pause, and another laugh. "Yes. Goodbye."

Elizabeth put down the phone. She continued reading the 1992 obituary. Apparently he'd been killed with his wife in a boat explosion off the coast of South America, had left behind a teenage daughter, a brother, and an ex-wife. She'd found nothing else until 2006 (but one wouldn't expect too many hits when searching the name of an ordinary dead man); then a few snippets began to appear, a newspaper article about a disease outbreak, some missing jewels, references to the World Health Organization, newspaper announcements about his daughter's wedding, the birth of a granddaughter. All intriguing. What had happened to Mr. Scorpio between 1992 and 2006? How had he managed to come back from the dead? And how had he become involved in the WHO and a jewelry heist, for god's sake? Elizabeth picked up her phone again, dialed, waited.

"It's me. I need a favour." Pause. "I need some information. I don't think it'll be easy to get, so you'll need to use you connections. Find out everything you can for me about Robert Xavier Scorpio." She paused, and reopened one of the articles she had minimized. "And Anna Devane. Aka Anna Lavery, Anna Scorpio." Pause. "Thank you. I love you." A second pause, a laugh. "Okay, you know me too well; I don't love you. But do this and you'll make me very, very happy." Another pause, another laugh. Elizabeth ended the call.

* * *

><p>Robert, bearing take-out, knocked on Anna's office door at noon. "12:00," she remarked. "A perfect time to start work. I predict your day will begin with a very long lunch break."<p>

Robert wagged his finger. "No, no, my harsh task-mistress, I've already been hard at work. Elizabeth Beaty's given me the go-ahead to open her bank account; documents have been signed, sealed, and delivered, and your brilliant accountant is poised to begin her work. My part in the action is complete. Now I have nothing to do but wait."

Anna sighed, removed her reading glasses, rubbed her eyes. "You've done all that in the four hours since I left this morning? And what have I accomplished? Nothing."

Robert unpacked two deli salads. "What are you working on right now?"

Anna took her salad, inspected it. "Any dressing?"

Robert rummaged in the bag, grabbed out two small packets, briefly juggled them, threw them to her.

Anna opened, drained them, and poked at her salad as she spoke. "The building being leased by Duke is newly owned by companies based in Montreal and Hong Kong. It seems an odd pairing."

"Old colonial ties? Two former British colonies united by fond memories of Queen Victoria, what?"

Anna munched on her salad thoughtfully. "That would make more sense if it were a company in Ontario. Montreal's in French Canada, Robert—Quebec. There aren't too many cozy feelings toward the monarchy there, not too many post-colonial ties to former British colonies. Although more, perhaps, in Montreal than elsewhere in the province."

"Well, let's brainstorm. What else are the two cities known for?" Robert unpacked two sandwiches, put one in front of Anna. She brightened.

"Thank god, I thought we were only eating salad." She unwrapped her sandwich, took a large bite. She chewed, made a hand signal requesting Robert wait for an answer. When her mouth was finished, she replied. "Montreal—let's see. Romance?" She laughed. "Carriage rides through the old town? Beautiful churches? Cobblestone streets?" Then she frowned. "Crumbling infrastructure? Rampant political corruption? Kickbacks to government officials? Mayors charged with criminal activities and booted out of office?" Anna put down her sandwich. She swallowed, but not because she had food in her mouth. "More importantly and likely more significantly, it's the Canadian capital of organized crime. It's the home of a formerly very powerful and dangerous mob family. The Rizzutos. Have you heard of them?"

"I've heard the name. Why have I heard the name?"

Anna perched on the edge of her seat. "Vito Rizzuto was convicted of participating in the murder of three alleged New York gang leaders in 1981. He wasn't charged until 2003 and wasn't extradited until 2006. He pled guilty, served six years in jail, returned to Montreal in 2012, and died in 2013."

"Who took over his territory?"

"That's what's so interesting. No one has, yet. Vito's heir, the child groomed to replace him, was assassinated in 2009. His two other children are lawyers and apparently don't want to have anything to do with the organization."

"I suspect this isn't a story with a happy ending—old mafia boss dies; law and order are restored to the city; citizens rejoice."

Anna shook her head. "Not at all. The police expect a bloody mob war. Local organized criminals, gangs from Toronto and New York, are all undoubtedly interested in assuming control of Rizzuto's old dynasty. Everyone's just waiting for things to get violent."

Robert had unpacked his sandwich and was poised to take a bite. "Surely, then, we're barking up the wrong tree. Why would mob bosses anticipating a heated battle in their back yard over-extend themselves by taking on new holdings south of the border?" He crunched into his sandwich.

Anna was thoughtful. "Maybe it has something to do with how the Rizzutos were seen in the United States. The FBI was always a bit dismissive of the family and considered it just the Canadian branch of the Bonanno Family in New York. That wasn't ever true: the Rizzutos were as powerful as any of the New York families, but they did have an alliance with the Bonannos. Maybe someone's trying to establish new connections here, to break ties with the Bonannos, who've grown weak themselves. Or, maybe someone's trying to prove to what's left of the Bonanno family that they can acquire new territory for them, to win their favour and approval."

Now Robert chewed thoughtfully. "It's an interesting lead. Not bad work for four hours. Oh, excuse me, I stand corrected: for the fifteen minutes since I walked into your office."

"That was all me, Scorpio," Anna objected. "I didn't hear you contributing any helpful information about Canadian crime families."

Robert smiled. "But I knew to ask the right questions. That's the mark of a really fine agent." He paused before taking another bite. "The next question is, what's the connection with Hong Kong?"

Anna slumped. "I have absolutely no idea. But that's what the internet is for." She gave her fingers a cursory wipe with a napkin, rolled her chair over to her keyboard, and started typing.

* * *

><p>"Click on the Wikipedia article," Robert instructed her. "There. There. Look there."<p>

"I refuse to click on a Wikipedia article, Robert," Anna growled. "I have access to the finest crime fighting resources via this computer. I can put in requests with Interpol, MI6, the NSA, the FBI, the WSB . . ."

Robert, standing to her left, reached across and grabbed the mouse. He opened the encyclopedia entry.

They both skimmed it silently.

"Okay," Robert spoke, "that makes sense. Hong Kong became a centre of organized crime after the revolution in 1949 forced Chinese organized crime off the mainland. All the gangs moved there, preferring British punishment over Chinese communist punishment for their illegal activities. The gangs—known as triads—have spread internationally. They set up shop anywhere large Asian populations are established."

"Where was Mr. Wu from, Robert?" Anna asked, referring to the crime lord they'd faced and defeated many years before, shortly after Anna first sought Robert out in New York. He'd kidnapped Robin, trying to extort the Black Pearls from Port Charles' Asian community. "Was he born in the United States or was he born overseas?"

Robert didn't bat an eye. "I'm quite sure he was originally from Hong Kong. But his arrival in Port Chuck predated mine. He'd already been in town for a long while."

"So Mr. Wu's Asian gang might have originated in a Hong Kong triad?"

"It's possible. Of course, once we took him and his son down, Victor Jerome stepped in and took over the entire Port Charles territory. We then, as you no doubt recall, worked very hard to defeat the Jeromes."

"And once they were gone," Anna continued, "and unfortunately we were also gone, Frank Smith and Hernando Rivera took over. Then Sonny Corinthos replaced the murdered Frank Smith."

Robert laughed without humour. "There's a lesson in this. Mob bosses are Hydra heads all: if you lop one off, three grow in its place. The good guys never really win."

"But we haven't seen another Asian triad back in Port Charles. They never threw their hat—or head—back into the ring. Why not? And why might they be interested in establishing themselves here again?"

"I have no idea, Anna. But I suspect that, like the citizens of fair Montreal, we should be prepared for some serious mob violence if any of this turns out to be true."

"We can't have stumbled on the correct explanation, Robert. It makes absolutely no sense. Why on earth would Sonny and Duke be playing ball with rival organized syndicates? If our theory is right, do you think it's possible they don't realize who they're doing business with?"

Robert narrowed his eyes. "I'm sure both Lavery and Corinthos are perfectly aware who they're dealing with, though I suspect they over-estimate their ability to control the situation. You first question, that's the real stumper. What could they possibly gain by welcoming the Montreal mob and a Hong Kong gang into Corinthos' territory?"

"And how do the Jeromes come into it?" Anna asked. "That's an added complication. I'm sure Duke's involved to get revenge on Julian for miscellaneous and sundry offences."

"Another thing I don't know," Robert admitted, shifting his weight slightly, leaning into Anna's left shoulder. "But you have to admit it's all pretty exciting."

Anna looked over her shoulder at him. "I don't know that I feel excitement exactly" she replied. "Me, I feel slightly nauseous thinking about the consequences."

Robert shifted his body slightly, angling it and pulling Anna's closer in. "As I recall," he mumbled, "we used to like a bit of danger. Got the old juices flowing. Besides, it's all just hypothetical. We're probably completely wrong."

Anna still looked concerned. "And what if we're not?"

"Then at least we already know what we're up against," he said, drawing her even closer. "And we have each others' backs. Speaking of backs . . ." Robert kissed her, his hand creeping around; Anna caught it and brought it back by his side.

"No funny business right now, Robert. We finish lunch. Then I make some inquiries of our counterparts in Montreal, try to get in touch with their organized crime unit. And you start searching for Elizabeth's missing husband. You don't need a forensic accountant's report to get that ball rolling."

Robert grimaced. "Not exactly the response I expected."

"This office is not private. Anyone could walk in."

"And you're telling me that element of danger doesn't make you want it more? You never seemed to care that Guy Lewis might have walked in and caught us having a quickie in the corner back when I was police commissioner. Who are you, and what have you done with the real Anna Devane?"

Anna smiled. Robert knew he was breaking down her resistance. He moved in for the kill, bending Anna back, kissing her neck, one hand moving to the buttons of her shirt . . .

Just then the office door swung open, proving Anna's point. It was Robin, with Emma in tow. The younger Drake completely missed the significance of what she was seeing, but Robin didn't. "Okay, okay," she said, pressing her own eyes shut and covering Emma's with her hands. "Child and grandchild in the room, here. Please knock it off."

Anna pushed Robert away, horrified, while Robert grinned. He bent down to look Emma in the eye. "Grandad's just helping Grandma with a case, Sweetheart," he explained. "Next time you and Mummy come to visit, you make sure to remind her to knock instead of barging right in. Otherwise she might get exactly what she deserves. Right?"

Emma laughed and nodded.


	13. Chapter 13

After days of searching, Robert concluded that, like Carolyn, Alan Schaber had disappeared into thin air, had transformed from solid into gas and simply vanished away. There was absolutely no trace of the man. There were no hospital or coroner records indicating he'd been admitted for care or to the morgue, or that any John Doe even remotely meeting his description had been hospitalized or died for months after his disappearance. There had been no legal proceedings against him anywhere in the United States; after his disappearance, he never renewed his license with the Department of Motor Vehicles; he was never registered to vote; he never married, never applied for a business license. He never applied to change his name legally; there was no record that he renounced his US citizenship, no record with the IRS that he was a national working abroad. He hadn't travelled on his passport and had never renewed it. His phone records stopped the day he left his wife. His credit cards were never used again and were eventually cancelled by the companies, their balances paid off by automatic payments from Alan and his wife's joint account.

Robert hadn't been able to find any next-of-kin other than Elizabeth Beaty. Alan had been an only child of only children who'd emigrated from Germany to New York State in the 1950s; he had only distant relatives still alive, and phone calls placed to second cousins in Ingolstadt and Potsdam had produced only bewilderment. No one seemed aware that Alan had even existed. Discreet inquiries Robert made of Stephen and Elizabeth yielded no names of close friends or business associates. Stephen claimed he'd never met anyone in Alan's circle. Elizabeth was blunt: Alan had been a bit of a recluse. Everyone they socialized with was someone she knew. "Without me," she'd told Robert over the phone, "he would have been completely alone. That man couldn't make a friend to save his life."

How and why Alan had disappeared so completely mystified Robert. The man was intelligent, undoubtedly—he'd worked as an engineer, designing dams and flood-control causeways. How he'd acquired the knowledge to erase all trace of his existence, however, was a mystery. He'd done a bang-up job if he had, in fact, planned and carried out his own disappearance. But why would he have worried about doing it at all? If Elizabeth was telling the truth and Alan had just wanted to leave her because he wanted to have children and she didn't, why cover his tracks so completely? Who was he worried would follow him? What was he worried might happen if he or she did? Did he leave at all? Was Alan, in fact, dead?

Robert hoped the forensic accountant could offer him some kind of lead and not just more of the same—more nothing.

* * *

><p>It wasn't bad, Anna thought. Not far from work—she could walk instead of driving. There was a guest bedroom, in case Emma slept over. There were two bathrooms; the en suite could be private, the other kept clean for visitors. The views of the waterfront were spectacular, and the building seemed secure. The kitchen was quite nice—updated, great appliances (a gas stove, although gas made her nervous, and she still hated cooking). It could easily and inexpensively be furnished. (What had happened, she briefly wondered, to her love of antiques and fine things? Her flats in London and Paris were beautifully decorated; here in Port Charles she wanted nothing around her, no clutter, no luxuries, just the basics required for living, just clean lines, just empty space. It was as if here, since Robin's death, she had chosen to slough off the past, and everything she'd accumulated, like an old skin, had kept herself ready to flee, able to leave, no baggage, no regrets, no objects, no one and nothing to keep her in this place. And yet, she had stayed, disconnected, floating in empty space.)<p>

The problem was the lease. Six months—could she commit to that? Something inside her revolted against the idea. The Metro Court suite had been month to month, its primary attraction. Knowing she could pick up and leave at any time had given Anna comfort. Now she wanted even more badly to be mobile. She wondered if her fear of commitment had something to do with her fear that Robert might soon go away again. If he did, would she follow in desperation? Or would she simply and finally decide to return on her own to London, to somewhere she didn't associate with him and with their life together?

"Six months?" she asked the superintendent. "Any chance of something shorter?"

The super just laughed. "Are you kidding? In this depressed housing market? Rentals are hot, hot, hot right now; no one can afford to buy. You're lucky they're not locking you in, forcing you to sign a year-lease. Prices right now are the highest they've ever been; I think the owner is betting they'll rise even more."

Anna frowned. A six-month lease at record prices. How desperately did she want a room of her own? At what price freedom and privacy?

She sighed. "I'll take it, I guess. You said immediate occupancy. Could I move in over the weekend? Or would that be too 'immediate'?"

The super smiled. "I'm sure that can be arranged. And I'm sure the owner will waive his usual requirement of three references." A pause. "Seeing as you're the police commissioner and all."

* * *

><p>Anna met Robin for lunch at Kelly's after signing the papers. Emma was at kindergarten; they had an hour to themselves. Anna had taken a half day, exhausted from long and strange work hours spent in consultation with organized crime units in Montreal (no time difference) and Hong Kong (a thirteen-hour difference). The discussions had been informative; Anna had been alerted to a number of possible Montreal thugs who might be interested and involved in Duke's club. Flags had been placed on their passports by US customs. Hong Kong was trickier; the possibilities for involvement there seemed endless. Anna had asked about the family name Wu, wondering if a triad might be interested in Port Charles for reasons of revenge. She'd been informed the name was extremely common and couldn't possibly narrow anything for her. The PCPD would have to rely on their informants in the Asian quarter for news of suspicious arrivals. Anna felt another long-suppressed pang of loss, remembering Olin. Another person who had died, Anna thought, while she had been away.<p>

"You look like hell, Mom," Robin told her. "Why do you look so tired?"

Anna smiled to reassure her daughter, but the effect was not exactly as intended: the bags under her eyes were merely accentuated, and her eyelids drooped. "Just long hours, darling. Work's a bit busy right now. Nothing to worry about."

"Long work hours and then Dad." Robin smiled and involuntarily shuddered. "You must be exhausted."

Anna laughed. "Actually I haven't seen your father outside of work for a couple of days. We've both been too busy. He's off trying to locate a missing person and I'm in conference calls with experts in Montreal during the day, experts in Hong Kong during the evening. I've had to brush up on my French; once the city police in Montreal learned I understand and speak it, conference calls immediately became bilingual, one officer speaking English, one French, another both, depending. It's really tiring working in two languages when you're unaccustomed to switching back and forth."

"And how's your Cantonese?"

"Non-existent, thank god. My head would explode if I had to speak three languages in rapid succession."

Robin grinned. She picked up her spoon, dipped it into her soup. "How are things going with Dad? You looked pretty close the other day in your office. Am I to assume things have progressed?"

Anna played with her salad. "Yes, they have."

Robin furrowed her brow. "Are you feeling okay about it? You seem a bit—I don't know—troubled."

Anna looked at her daughter, forced a smile. "I worry too much. I often did when I was with your father. I'm guilty of expecting the worst where he's concerned. We seem to be jinxed."

At that moment, the door to the cafe opened.

"Speak of the devil," Robin murmured. Robert saw them, walked over, dragging a chair. "How are my two favourite girls?" he asked, leaning over to kiss the top of Robin's head. He sat down, looked at Anna, gave a start.

"Yes, yes, Robert, I know, I look terrible," Anna sighed. "I haven't been getting much sleep."

Robert looked at her, leaned in toward her. "Not what I was thinking at all," he told her. "I'm simply constantly surprised at how beautiful you are." He moved in for a long kiss. Robin looked away, bowed her head, and ate her soup. When Robert moved back, Anna was smiling.

"I'm starved," Robert announced. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"That would be lovely," Anna answered. "And since you're here, I can kill two birds with one stone. I have a bit of good news you both should hear: I've leased an apartment. I can move in starting tomorrow."

Robin stared at her. "I didn't even know you were thinking about leaving the Metro Court. That's great news. I hope this means you're setting down more permanent roots here in Port Charles."

It may have been Anna's imagination, but Robert looked less pleased. Still, he joked, "Your mother moves fast once she makes up her mind. Making a decision, though, _that_ can take her forever."

* * *

><p>When lunch was over, Robin left to pick Emma up from school. Anna and Robert lingered behind.<p>

"An apartment, eh?" Robert asked. "That seems a big step."

Anna leaned in towards him anxiously. "This is not meant to be our apartment, Robert. No pressure. Please, don't misunderstand me. I'm doing this for myself, not to force your hand. That being said, I think it'll be good for us, will give us more space. We won't have to spend all our time together in your small hotel room."

Robert looked at her askance. "You didn't even ask me to come along. You could at least have invited me to give my opinion on the location, the layout. I might have enjoyed helping you pick something out."

She smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry. Maybe you'll enjoy helping me move in just as much?"

Robert looked puzzled. "Pardon my confusion, but what exactly do you have to move? Are you planning on stealing the bedroom suite and sofa from the Metro Court?"

"Fair point," she conceded. "Actually, I need to buy a few things to make the place livable. I need to get all the basics: a sofa, a dining room table and chairs, a couple of beds . . ."

Robert stood. "I can help you with that. You still have a couple of hours off, right? We'll start with a bed, I think. We can test a few out, make sure the tension is right, check out the bounce. Everything else can follow. We may as well get our priorities straight."

* * *

><p>He could tell it was a dog-shit town the moment he stepped off the plane.<p>

"Comment s'est passé votre vol, Monsieur?" His assistant, who'd flown ahead to make the necessary preparations, looked at him anxiously.

"The flight was fine, Victor. It was probably the last fine thing I'll experience for the next few months. I certainly hope I'll be able to spend my weekends in the city and won't be trapped in this sleepy provincial crap hole. Are my accommodations ready?"

"Oui, Monsieur. Par ici, s'il vous plaît."

"For Christ's sake, Victor, speak English. Your parents were Anglos just like mine."

Victor's voice dropped in volume. He spoke conspiratorially. "I just thought we might be able to talk more freely if we spoke in French. You know, so no one else will understand."

He cut Victor a look of disgust. "We're in the United States of America; every second seventeen-year-old girl in this goddamn country is a Francophile dreaming of living in Paris and studying someday at the Sorbonne. As at home, watch your mouth in either language; don't assume anyone doesn't understand what you're saying. Or you just might give some apple-pie, girl-next-door the shock of her life."

Victor stooped to pick up the luggage.

"Now let's go see what the hell I've gotten us into here. Introduce me to this charming town. I'm especially interested in looking at my real estate investment. Any sign of our far-east partners yet?"

Victor shook his head. "They can't be far behind us, though, Monsieur—excuse me, I forgot: 'Boss.'"

* * *

><p>Anna and Robert were on their way back to the station when she received a call. Customs had contacted the PCPD. They'd had a hit: one of the men flagged had just arrived in Port Charles via New York City.<p>

"The game's afoot, Robert," Anna announced.

Moments later, Robert's cell phone rang. He answered, and after a moment, spoke. "I'm just on my way back to the office. I can bring up the file there and call you back." He looked at his watch. "Can we say in half an hour? At four o'clock?" Pause. "Great." He hung up.

"That was your forensic accountant," he explained. "Looks like our threads are finally weaving together. Once we get back to the station, we'll split up, deal with our respective issues, and meet up again tonight for dinner? I expect we'll have a lot of fascinating information to share."

* * *

><p>Robert was on the phone with the accountant. He'd just pulled up the file and report she'd sent him. "Okay, Roxanne. I'm looking at it," he told her. "Walk me through and point out the highlights. Feel free to assume a high degree of numerical illiteracy. I won't be insulted."<p>

"I always do," Roxanne replied, "and no offence is ever intended. I've written my report in fairly clear terms on pages one and two. Flip ahead to pages three and four. Here you'll find the more-or-less raw data from the account: the various paths the money took and I was able to trace. I'll be upfront with you—I followed it through a couple of twists and turns and then lost it completely."

"Thanks for the spoiler. Go ahead," Robert steadied himself. "I'll try to keep up."

"Okay," Roxanne began, "look at column one. Here you'll see the money removed from Elizabeth Beaty and Alan Schaber's joint account on 16 August 1998. The withdrawal is $50,000, a little less than half of the total amount. The money was wired from their bank in Port Charles to a bank in Belize. The destination account was opened by a Caribbean company that specializes in creating offshore accounts for North American clients. The name on the account is, I presume, a shell company: D and R Solutions. According to their business application, the company specializes in computer security and their clients are mainly Americans."

Robert studied the document. "I follow you so far. How long did the money sit in that account?"

"Not very long," Roxanne replied; "Look over the page; most of the money was withdrawn two days later; the account remained open with a balance of $500 until bank fees ate that up in 2003. Then the bank shut the account down."

"Where did the rest of the money go?"

"Over the page again. You'll see it went in three different directions. One third was wired to a bank in the Seychelles, one third to a bank in Cyprus, one third to a bank in Latvia."

Robert was afraid to ask. "And after that?"

Roxanne sighed. "The money was withdrawn from each account in sequence—on 20 August from the bank in the Seychelles, on 25 August from the bank in Cyprus, and 30 August from the bank in Latvia. And just to be clear: it wasn't wired but withdrawn as cash money. We have no way to trace it. The trail ends here, abruptly and decisively. That's your report, I'm afraid."

"Whose names were on the bank accounts? Who had authority to withdraw the balances?"

"All of the bank accounts were in the name of D and R Solutions. And the signing authority for the company was the same in each case: Jerry Hallam, supposedly an American national. Do you think Hallam could be Schaber?"

Robert pondered the question. "Could be. I'll need to check and see if a Mr. Hallam travelled from Port Charles or New York to anywhere near the Seychelles around the time of Schaber's disappearance. Curiouser and curiouser. Thanks, Roxanne. I'll let you know if I need your help in future."

"Good luck, Robert. I think you'll need it."

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Anna was staring at a series of photographs sent to her by the Montreal organized crime unit, the first a surprisingly flattering mug shot, the rest surveillance photos of a man named Gino Giordano. He was a handsome man in his 50s, neatly trimmed dark hair lightened with grey around the temples, dark eyes, broad shoulders, a slim waist, in every photograph dressed in suit and tie or sports jacket and slacks. He was obviously a man extremely careful of his appearance and able to afford expensive clothing. "He looks rather refined," she commented to Inspector Gauthier on the phone. Gauthier made an unidentifiable sound. She suspected it was of disgust.<p>

"Commissioner," he replied, "pour être parfaitement honête, I'm glad Giordano's left Montreal. I'm glad he's out of our hair if only for a short time. But I'm sorry for you that he's chosen to leave our town for yours, because this man is refined only in looks."

"What kinds of crime is he suspected of?" Anna asked, worried. "What should I expect from him, Gauthier?"

Gauthier was momentarily silent. "Most mobsters adhere to some kind of code of conduct—I hesitate to call it a moral code. You understand me? Giordano doesn't adhere to anything. You'd think he'd at least always choose to act in ways that would benefit him personally. And most of the time, you'd be right; he does. But sometimes he derails, acts without any kind of logic or reason normal people might understand."

Anna swallowed. "An example? Inspector?"

Again, a pause. "When Giordano was younger, he developed an infatuation with a woman much older than he was. She was married to another mafioso, had three young children. I think she was in her forties, he was in his twenties. Anyway, we suspect he killed her husband. The man was found shot in the head, body thrown in the St. Lawrence River."

Anna replied, careful, "That seems like a conventionally motivated crime."

"It was," Gauthier agreed. "And when the woman —a woman, by the way, who had never shown the least bit of interest in him, had never given him the slightest encouragement—rejected him later and he killed her, you could chalk it up to simple anger."

"I can feel there's a 'mais' coming."

"But the next two crimes seem completely without motive. He killed (we're sure, though we didn't have enough evidence to go to trial) the woman's sister a year later. As far as we could determine, he'd never had any contact with this woman before, had no particular grievance against her. Not exactly a crime of passion. Then the husband's brother disappeared a year after the sister, was never found."

"Was that the end of it?"

"Well, the wife's youngest sister entered our equivalent of the Witness Protection Program. She's living somewhere in Western Canada now. If she were to return to Montreal and assume her old name, I'd expect her to be dead within a week, though she's innocent of any kind of crime against Giordano."

"And this is the man who just touched down in Port Charles?"

"Oui, Madame. We're happy to help you in any way we can, but he's your responsibility for the time being. The best I can do, really, is to wish you bonne chance."

* * *

><p>Anna and Robert were back at his hotel room after sharing a late meal and the details of their respective investigations. Robert thought again how tired she looked when she emerged from the bathroom.<p>

"God, that shower felt good," she groaned. She was wearing Robert's robe, five times too big, cinched tightly at her waist. She began towel drying her hair.

Robert was reclining on the bed. "Where's your phone, Luv?" he asked.

Anna gave him a funny look. "Why? Can't find yours? You need to make a call?" She walked over to her bag, rummaged around, drew it out, tossed it to him. "No long distance though, okay?"

Robert took the phone, looked at it, then put it in his bedside table.

"Robert, what are you doing? I need that . . ."

"Not tonight, you don't," he replied. "We can hear it if it rings. I just don't want you checking the damn thing obsessively. Let your hirelings earn their keep."

Anna made a face, turned away from the bed, lifted herself back and up beside him with characteristic grace. Then she dramatically flopped down full length onto the mattress and went still.

"Oh, you're so sexy when you're exhausted," Robert remarked. He leaned over her, eyes fixed on hers, expectant. They lay together for a moment, unmoving. She was the first to break a smile.

"It _kills_ me to say this, Robert," Anna sighed, "but not tonight. I just don't have the energy."

Robert bent over and kissed her neck. "You know, I'm fine with doing the bulk of the heavy lifting. You can just sit back and think of England."

Anna laughed. "You know I'm incapable of that. Have some mercy, Robert. Don't even get me started."

He smiled. "Robert-the-Merciful. Has a nice ring. Okay. Eight hours respite. Do I have permission to wake you in the morning?"

Anna yawned. "That depends. If by granting said permission I'm giving you, Robert-the-Childish, the power to throw water in my face, shine a bright light in my eyes, or play loud music, then no, you do not have it."

"What if I promise to wake you in a more—pleasant manner?"

Anna was almost asleep. "So long as it's pleasant," she exhaled lightly, "you have my permission. Surprise me." And she was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

I didn't have much time to write this week - sorry for the delay. This chapter is a bit of a pause. But things will now start to move really quickly. There will be some surprising plot developments soon, including a death. Thanks to everyone who's still reading for sticking with me. The pace will ramp up, I promise!

* * *

><p>The next morning Anna and Robert stopped at Kelly's for a quick breakfast before she picked up the keys to her new apartment. Robert installed her at a table and announced, "I'll be right back—I'm off to shake the hand of an old friend."<p>

"An old and dear friend of mine as well," Anna laughed, and then threatened, "Don't take too long or I'll order you something healthy." Robert disappeared to the bathroom at the back of the restaurant.

Anna studied the menu although she knew it by heart. Hidden in the corner and partially screened, she went unnoticed by Duke as he entered and walked up to the counter. Anna quickly observed him, however, and wondered what she should do: approach him? Make herself obvious? Hide and hope he left before Robert returned?

She decided she needed at least to attempt to resolve their uncomfortable estrangement. At _very_ least she needed to warn him of the danger he was in, make him aware that Sonny had betrayed him to her. She walked up to the counter. "Duke?"

She thought she saw him flinch at the sound of her voice. He didn't turn around. "Anna," he answered, his back to her. "I wasn't expecting to run into you here."

Anna touched his shoulder. "Could we talk? Just for a few minutes." She lowered her voice. "Why didn't you meet me the other day? There's a great deal I want to say to you, to explain."

The woman working the counter came back smiling with a take-away container and a cup of coffee to go. "Here you are, Mr. Lavery. Just what you asked for."

Duke handed her a folded bill (a slip of paper carefully concealed inside). "Thank you, Deborah," he said in his most charming voice. "Keep the change. And have a very pleasant day." Deborah smiled back at him.

Duke turned to face Anna. "No explanations are necessary. A good friend explained the current situation to me—opened my eyes to certain goings-on of which I was unaware. Now I know that I was betrayed. And by someone I cared for and trusted very much."

Anna held Duke's gaze. "I could say exactly the same thing. So we betrayed each other. I'll acknowledge my guilt if you'll acknowledge yours—and if you'll open your eyes to a more dangerous betrayal. Sonny Corinthos sold you out, Duke. As it happens, I learned you were working for him on my own: I trailed you to his office the day you went to meet the shipment for the club. But I never would have suspected you if you hadn't been called away every time we were together, and I think Corinthos orchestrated your repeated abandonments to rouse my suspicions."

Duke scoffed. "Ridiculous. And how dare you follow me; how dare you not trust me."

Anna bit her bottom lip. "My trust in you obviously was and would have been misplaced. As is your trust in Sonny. He ensured that clear evidence of your presence at the warehouse on the night of the shooting was discovered by the PCPD. He wanted me to discover that you were working with him. And he wanted you to think that I slept with Robert to make you angry. He wanted us to split, likely to convince a certain someone in town that you and he are partners. Does any of this ring true, or at least seem possible?"

Duke said nothing. Anna sighed.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry, Duke. I didn't set out to hurt you. We decided to try again. But we aren't anymore what we once were. I still love you—dearly, deeply. I'm just not _in_ love with you. I haven't been for a long time. And I suspect you haven't been in love with me either, just with the idea of me, of us. Things have changed. I know you feel it too. We can't go back."

At this moment Robert was about to emerge from the back hallway; he saw Anna and Duke together and froze. Neither noticed him. He decided to wait, let them have it out. Anna could tell him about it after, if she wanted.

Duke grimaced. Then he turned back to the counter, grabbed his containers, moved past Anna without another word, and left the restaurant. Anna stood and looked after him, wondering if anything she'd said had registered. Two minutes later Robert walked up to her. She was grateful he hadn't returned sooner but had to ask, "What took you so long?"

Robert apologized. "Sorry, Luv—obviously you're hungry; up at the counter ordering? As it happens, I actually did shake the hand of an old friend—Luke was lurking about in the back. Did you know he's invested in Kelly's? For reasons of nostalgia, as far as I can reckon—because Ruby owned it."

Anna frowned. "I wonder what Luke would think about the comparison established by your clever metaphor."

Robert smiled, took her arm, led her back to the table. "He'd be flattered, I'm sure. Now let's have breakfast. I'm starved."

* * *

><p>By ten o'clock, they were at the Metro Court to pick up the few things Anna kept at her hotel suite and to hand in her key card. Just as they were arriving, a neatly-dressed middle-aged man in an expensive suit passed them in the lobby, throwing Anna an appreciative and not at all subtle glance. Robert noticed and felt his hackles rise. "Did that guy not see me walking next to you? What was up with that? He didn't even try to hide the fact that he was checking you out."<p>

Anna gritted her teeth. "Be quiet, Robert. And don't give him too hard a time for looking at me. Because I was (I hope more surreptitiously) looking at him."

Robert froze, then snapped his head toward her. "What?"

Anna stared straight ahead and pulled on Robert's arm to keep him walking. "I'm pretty sure our friend back there is Giordano. I've only seen photographs, but I recognized him. Do you think he's staying at the Metro Court?"

Robert stopped her, swung her around to look him in the eye. "Staying here would require enormous balls. It would show he doesn't care that Corinthos knows he's in town."

Anna was thinking. "I can find out," she said. "Will you wait for me? There's someone I can ask—someone who likes to do me the odd favour. Let me see if he's here."

Robert curled his lip slightly. "Not sure I like the sound of that."

"Let me clarify: he likes to do me the odd professional favour. He thinks of himself as a mole, an informant. He hates Carly, hates Corinthos, but hides his antipathy very well to protect his job. He can access the hotel register, find out who is where in the hotel. I assume Giordano would be staying in the penthouse." She gave Robert her key card. "You go up to my room and wait for me. And while you're waiting," she smiled, "pack my clothes."

It was Anna's turn to disappear. Robert sighed, headed for the elevator. As he waited for it to arrive, he wondered about Anna's meeting with Duke, if he should ask her directly what happened. When the door opened, lost in thought, at first he didn't recognize the elevator's sole occupant. But she recognized him. "Robert Scorpio," she exclaimed, to all appearances delighted. "How nice to see you again. Tell me, have you discovered anything by looking at my bank account? Have you managed to locate my good-for-nothing ex-husband?"

Elizabeth Beaty radiated something; Robert could almost feel the heat scorching his skin. "Ms. Beaty," he forced a smile. "I'm surprised to see you here in Port Charles. Are you back in town for business?"

"Still in town, as a matter of fact," she corrected. "My short business trip has been extended indefinitely. My client has turned out to be more difficult than expected. I don't know when I'll be able to leave." She touched Robert's hand. "I would love to meet and hear more about your investigation. I didn't have the resources back in 1998 to trace the money Alan took. If you've discovered something, I'd be very grateful if you told me."

Robert didn't like telling her too much, but he had very little to reveal anyway. "You were kind enough to release your records to us; the least we can do is share the little information we've found. Could we meet tomorrow or Monday? I can fill you in on all the details then."

Elizabeth beamed. "It's a date. I'm free tomorrow afternoon—just phone me later with the time and location. And I look forward to it." She gave Robert's arm a squeeze and strode off toward the hotel exit. Robert looked after her long enough to miss his elevator. Pounding the button didn't call it back. He rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and leaned up against the wall.

* * *

><p>Once in the hotel room, he fidgeted. He pulled all of Anna's clothes out of the closet, made an attempt at folding them. The concierge had left a few boxes outside the suite so that Anna could pack; Robert filled them. Then he moved to the dresser. He pulled out one of the drawers; it was filled with socks, tights, and even a pair of black stockings. No hearts, but black stockings. He made a mental note to ask her to wear them for him later. He dumped the contents of the drawer into one of the boxes without any attempt at organization or placement. Then he opened another drawer. Anna's lingerie. Robert lightly stroked one of her silk camisoles with his finger. He slowly sorted through the contents of this drawer, inspecting every piece in turn, trying to remember if he'd seen her wear it. He made more of an attempt to arrange these items in the box, to place them carefully. He opened the next drawer.<p>

Here he found Anna's keepsakes, a small but obviously significant collection of memory objects. Robin must have given most of them to her; Anna had been taken from Port Charles with little more than the clothes on her back and her wedding and engagement rings. Robert noticed a shallow dish with jewelry; he saw here the bracelet Robin had worn the day she first discovered her mother was still alive (she'd told him the story of travelling to Pine Valley to meet the reporter writing a tribute to Anna, of deciding to wear Anna's bracelet without knowing why).

In the corner of the drawer Robert saw a stack of photographs. He guessed that these were the pictures Robin had given Anna to jog her memory. He'd never seen them. He rifled through, feeling guilty, hoping Anna didn't return to find him examining her very personal things. A photograph of Robin, Anna, and Filomena taken just after Robert learned of his daughter's existence. A photograph of Robin with her godfathers: Sean, Frisco, Buzz. Duke and Anna's wedding photograph. Robert thought how beautiful and how happy she looked. More photographs: Frisco and Felicia, Olin, Bobby and BJ, Monica, Sean and Tiffany. When Robert reached the end of the stack, he felt a twinge in his chest. No photograph of him. No photograph of them. Nothing.

He closed the drawer. And at that moment, he heard a light rap at the door. He moved to answer it.

It was Anna. "You'll never guess what I've learned, Robert," she spoke breathlessly. "Giordano is staying at the Metro Court, is in the penthouse suite. He travelled under and registered here using his real name. I think he wants Corinthos to know he's on his turf."

Robert shrugged. "We already knew this guy was tough. Just not how tough."

Anna sat down on the bed. "I was surprised to learn that Giordano is staying here. But I've learned something else that surprises me nearly as much. Did you know that the Metro Court has two penthouse suites?"

Robert shook his head. "I had no idea. Two sides of the hotel?"

"Exactly. One suite has a view of the harbour, the other has a view of the city skyline. Both are very nice, I'm told."

"Significance?"

Anna smiled. "When I asked who was staying in the penthouse, my informant asked me which suite, and since I didn't know, I just asked for both names. Giordano's in the suite facing the water. Guess who's in the suite facing inland?"

Robert kneeled down in front of her beside the bed. "I'm dying to find out."

Anna paused, then announced, "Elizabeth Beaty. She's been staying in the penthouse since she first arrived in town. What kind of business would keep her here this long? And what kind of company would put her up in a suite that costs over a thousand dollars a day? We knew she has money because she's so damned turned-out. But I didn't expect she'd be living quite this large. Who is this woman, Robert? Why is she still here?"

Robert took Anna's hands. "I don't know, but I'll try to find out. I'm meeting her tomorrow to discuss her bank account and the missing fifty grand."

Anna looked at Robert, smiled, and laughed. "What?" he asked. "What do you find so amusing?"

Anna blushed. "I just had a sudden vivid memory of you on your knees beside the bed in that horrible motel when we were traveling back to Port Charles from the Finger Lakes. Do you remember?"

Robert smiled back. "I remember. But right now all I'm going to ask you is please can we finish your packing and bring all this stuff to your new apartment? We're surrounded here by mobsters and—well, I'm not sure yet what Elizabeth Beaty is, but she makes me distinctly uncomfortable."

* * *

><p>By evening Robert and Anna had coordinated the delivery of furniture from various stores, had sorted through donations of dishes, cutlery, pots and pans, towels given to Anna by Robin (so odd, Anna had remarked, to be receiving her daughter's discards; usually parents unloaded unwanted or no longer needed items on their children). They'd argued over the placement of the meagre contents of the apartment—the orientation of the sofa, the beds, the very few chairs. When they were finished, the apartment still looked empty and unfinished.<p>

"Not quite to your style," Robert remarked. "It's a bit spare—every square inch of available space isn't filled. And there's not an antique in sight."

Anna flopped next to him on the couch. "I like it. It's clean, simple. I don't need a lot of stuff."

"I don't recall your decorating style being so compatible with mine when we moved into the Webber house."

Anna shrugged. "That was then. I'm a different person now. I'm not the same."

Robert felt the twinge in his chest again. He'd promised himself he wouldn't pry, but he had to ask. "Do you have many things? You know, from before? Or . . ."

"You looked through my drawers," Anna stated bluntly. "It's okay, Robert—I asked you to pack my stuff. It's okay that you found the photographs and the jewelry"

Robert swallowed. "Is that all you have? Robin's given me a few things. We could share."

Anna was quiet for a moment. "No, it's not all I have. I have other things. They just aren't kept in the same place. I sometimes look through the photographs you found in the drawer when I'm feeling down. They make me happy. I like remembering."

"And the other things?" Robert asked.

"I've put them somewhere I won't see them unless I make an effort, dig them out. I don't want to stumble upon them accidentally, if that makes sense. When I first recovered my memory, I found them too painful to look at. I've only pulled them out again once or twice. The last time I looked at them was when Emma was born."

They sat together in silence for a few moments. Anna cleared her throat. "It occurs to me that you might not feel the same way about them. Maybe you'd like to see the keepsakes I put away. They concern you as well." She got up, disappeared into her bedroom. In five minutes she came back with an unremarkable cardboard box. She put it on the coffee table in front of him.

"I don't really want to look. You'll notice that all the photographs I have of you are in here. When I recovered my memory and first remembered you dying in the explosion, I felt a lot of pain but also a lot of guilt. I felt responsible for your death, Robert. And I didn't handle that very well. Even when I found out you were alive, I felt responsible for the destruction of our family, for the loss of—everything . So the photographs stayed in the box." She sighed. "I'll go put the sheets on the bed in the guest room and find something to do in there. I'll leave you with the box for a bit." And she got up and left.

Once she was gone, Robert hesitantly opened the box and began to work through its contents. Robert found the letter he'd written to Robin when he left to find Anna after her disappearance. He didn't reread it, didn't need to, remembered everything he'd said. He found Anna's wedding rings there—the simple band from their first wedding, the engagement ring and band from their second wedding. He found the scarf she'd worn at their Italian wedding, the invitation from their second. He found the Valentine's day card Robin had sent Anna ordering her to "Dis[card] and kiss your hostilities away" when she and Robert had been fighting, each other and, more strongly, their feelings for each other. He found ticket stubs: from the caves they'd entered, posing as tourists, when they'd been trailing Helena Cassadine at Mount Rushmore; from the Port Charles zoo; from Robin's various dance recitals. The box contained a small hoard of items he hadn't known at the time that Anna had saved.

He also found photographs. Of him—including photos and newspapers articles documenting his appointment as police commissioner (while they'd been estranged). Of them—from their first reconciliation through to their re-marriage. Robert noticed how different they looked when they were finally back together, how joyful. And he found all the pictures of Robin before he'd known her. Photographs of her as a baby, mainly. Robert wondered why Anna found these particularly painful. She must have closely guarded them for a long time, intent on protecting Robin, preventing anyone from knowing she was Anna's daughter. But a few very intimate photos survived, of the time before Robin was completely conscious of her surroundings. Anna dressed in white holding her newborn and smiling for the camera, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. Then Robin as a toddler, Anna wearing her blonde wig, taking on the persona of Luv, the family friend, forcing more of a separation. The progression was heartbreaking.

Robert put everything back in the box, closed it. He sat for a moment and then rose, went to the guest room. He knocked gently, found Anna smoothing the sheets obsessively. He entered, sat down on the bed, pulled her down to sit next to him.

"You know, the memories there don't have to be painful. Why not merge the happy and the sad? And why not rethink the sad, see them in a new way? You, Robin, and I, we've all turned out okay."

Anna shook her head and forced a smile. "No. The best thing to do is to focus on the future. I don't want to be reminded of what I destroyed. And I don't need to be reminded. I think about it every day."


	15. Chapter 15

While Anna was in the bathroom getting ready for bed, she called Robin.

"Mom?" her daughter asked, disoriented. "Is that you? Are you okay? Why are you calling so late?"

Anna picked up her watch from the bathroom vanity and cursed herself for not checking the time. It was after midnight. "Sorry darling," she said; "everything's fine. Your father and I just finished getting the apartment set up and I wanted to thank you for the things you sent over. But I wasn't thinking, didn't realize how late it was. Go back to sleep."

"It's all right, Mom. Is Dad there with you? You sound—odd. Are you sure you're okay?"

Anna nodded and smiled into the phone. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I just wanted to thank you. And I wanted to tell you that I love you. I love you so much."

A pause. "I love you too, Mom. Now you go to sleep. And give Dad a kiss goodnight from me."

Robin hung up. Anna stood looking at herself in the mirror.

* * *

><p>Duke was sitting alone at the almost-finished club. He was propped up at the bar, a bottle of scotch open in front of him, two fingers of it poured into a glass. He sipped and thought about what Anna had said, about the phone calls from Sonny, when they had come and when they hadn't. And he wondered.<p>

Suddenly there was a loud knocking. Duke started. He waited, and it came again. He lowered himself from the bar stool, walked over, looked through the peephole, then cautiously opened the front door of the club.

"Duke Lavery?" the man at the door asked. "I'm Giordano. We finally meet."

Duke looked back, apprehensive. This meeting hadn't been arranged. And it was late; Duke was alone. He felt very vulnerable.

"Excuse the hour," Giordano said, brushing past Duke into the club. "I was out walking."

Duke spoke before thinking. "This isn't the best neighbourhood for a midnight stroll."

Giordano laughed. "I appreciate your concern, but I guarantee you I was the most dangerous person out there." He grinned. "I sleep very little, Mr. Lavery, and I'm a night owl. Most of our meetings will take place after midnight. And I don't care much for appointments. I'll simply drop in when it's convenient for me. Understood?"

Duke grimly nodded his head.

"I received your confirmation that our first shipment was delivered and has been safely hidden away. When do we get our next delivery?"

"In three days," Duke answered. "The truck should arrive in town Wednesday at 3:00 a.m. It will deliver to a warehouse I've leased nearer the docks."

"That's Sonny Corinthos' back yard, isn't it? Is that a wise decision?"

Duke smiled. "I wouldn't be too concerned about Mr. Corinthos. He's being hounded by the Port Charles Police Department for a shooting that took place in one of his warehouses and is currently preoccupied. On top of that, his power's been challenged recently by the return of an old family: the Jeromes. You've heard of them?"

Giordano smiled. "Of course. In the '80s when I was cutting my teeth in the Montreal mob they were challenging the five families in New York. I'm already aware of Julian and Ava Jerome's presence in Port Charles."

Duke nodded again.

"Now," Giordano brightened, "I'd like a tour of my investment. I'd like estimated completion dates for all the phases of the project and a list of all the companies working on the renovations. I have a few enemies, you understand," Giordano made an exaggeratedly pained face, "and I want to make sure we haven't been compromised in any way."

Duke swept his arm out and extended it toward his left. "Certainly, Mr. Giordano. Would you like to start in the kitchen?"

* * *

><p>In the morning, while Anna was in the bathroom getting ready for the day, Robert had a sudden impulse. He picked up his phone and called Elizabeth Beaty. She didn't pick up; the call went to voice mail. "Elizabeth," Robert began, "this is Robert Scorpio. We talked about meeting up this afternoon. How about the Port Charles Hotel lounge at 3:00? Unless I hear from you, I'll be there waiting." Robert hung up.<p>

Then he dialed a second number. Again, there was no answer. "Stephen. It's Robert Scorpio. I thought I'd contact you, give you an update on the investigation into Carolyn's disappearance. Are you free this afternoon? I'd like to meet face to face. If you can, come to the Port Charles Hotel lounge at about 3:30."

Robert wanted to observe how the two old friends reacted when they saw each other unexpectedly.

* * *

><p>Ava and Julian were taking a stroll along the docks. The morning was lovely but brisk; Ava's scarf was wound tightly around her neck; Julian's hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his overcoat. They were looking out over the water.<p>

"A reliable source informs me that Duke's next shipment will arrive early Wednesday morning. I have a location and a route. We need to decide what to do with this information."

Ava didn't respond immediately and then said, "I have a bad feeling about this, Julian. Something doesn't seem right."

Julian looked smug. "I think lack of experience is making you anxious. In our business, you can't be timid. I say we strike, and we strike hard, send Corinthos a clear message that we're on to him."

Ava said nothing. There was no point; as usual, Julian would make all the decisions and she would go along with them. "Who do we bring in?" she asked. "How do we make the score? And what do we do with all the stuff?"

The Jeromes started to make careful plans.

* * *

><p>Mei Wu's assistant, incredulous, stood staring at the young woman behind the counter. "Both penthouse suites are occupied?" he asked. "But we were under the impression that one of the two would be reserved for Ms. Wu." He consulted with his boss in Cantonese. The assistant then turned back to the woman behind the hotel desk. "Please inform Mr. Giordano that Ms. Wu will be staying at the Port Charles Hotel. She will be in contact with him shortly. " And they left.<p>

The assistant briefly wondered how he would be punished for inconveniencing his boss. He pushed this disturbing worry from his mind as he held open the door to the limousine and she gracefully folded herself inside.

* * *

><p>Robert nervously flicked the pen he was holding through his fingers, a skill he'd perfected over the years killing time on long stakeouts. The pen flipped over and back from his index through to his pinkie finger, smoothly, effortlessly whirling around each digit. Elizabeth was late. He hoped she was still coming. A phone call from Robin a few hours earlier had worried him, because Robin had told him she was worried about her mother. Anna had seemed quiet and distant that morning. Robert hadn't liked leaving her. But she'd told him she planned to spend the afternoon in the station. Robert hoped work would be an effective distraction from whatever it was that was bothering her.<p>

And then Elizabeth walked in. The pen in Robert's hand stopped mid-flip. Her hair had been cut, Robert noted; it was shoulder length now, shaped in a stylish bob. He hadn't noticed the change the day before, when her hair had been pulled back from her face. Under her coat she was dressed in a dark blazer and grey trousers, again of the very highest quality. Robert noticed a few male heads turn as she walked toward him. There was no denying Elizabeth Beaty was a stunning woman.

"Robert," she held out her hand. They shook, and Robert briefly wondered if she'd offered her hand expecting he would kiss it. "So nice to see you again. I'm sorry I'm late. I underestimated how long it would take to walk here from the Metro Court." Elizabeth sat down; Robert did the same. She smiled at him. "We might as well cut to the chase. Can you tell me anything about my missing money and ex-husband?"

Robert quickly summarized the forensic accountant's report. As he spoke, he noticed that Elizabeth barely reacted to the information. She simply smiled and stared at him. When he was finished, he paused for a moment and then asked, "Do you have any idea why Alan would have gone to such lengths to make the money he took difficult to trace? Why would he bother?"

Elizabeth continued to smile. "I suspect he was worried about me, about my reaction. He likely thought I'd be angry and vindictive. To give the man his due, I probably would have been. I certainly wouldn't have let him leave with all that money."

Robert nodded, thoughtful. "Do you have any idea where he might have learned what to do with the money—where to send it, how to recover it? Our forensic accountant was able to trace it, but only now, years later, and largely because of certain international agreements and laws that didn't exist before and make banking information more accessible to law enforcement. Alan was an engineer, not a racketeer. And another thing puzzles me: he was trying to hide, no offence intended, a relatively small amount of money. The companies he dealt with usually don't lift a finger for less than a quarter million. Alan was transferring what amounts to petty cash."

Elizabeth looked up at the corner of the room above Robert's head and then back to meet his gaze. It was the first time she'd looked away from him since he'd begun to speak. "I'm sure I have no idea about any of it. Obviously there was a lot about Alan I didn't know."

Robert continued. "How about the locations where the money was taken out in cash: the Seychelles, Cyprus, and Latvia. Do any of these places seem significant to you in any way? Would any seem a convenient pick-up point for Alan?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No. I'm sorry, Robert, I can't offer you any clarification. Alan suddenly seems a much more interesting person than the one I married. I wish I'd known this man. The Alan I knew was dull, predictable, conventionally moral. Personally, I like someone a bit more complex. A man of mystery. Someone who's learned through hard experience that the world's not black and white, a man who lives in shades of grey." She paused, looked down, and looked back up at him through long, dark lashes. She spoke huskily. "I have a confession to make. While you were so helpfully looking into the whereabouts of my ex-husband, I was carrying out my own investigation—into you. And what I found intrigued me."

"Elizabeth? What are you doing here? Why didn't you call me and tell me you were in town?" Neither Robert nor Elizabeth had noticed Stephen enter the lounge or walk over to their table.

Robert stood, held out his hand. "Stephen. I'm so glad you could join us. Ms. Beaty's been helping me with the investigation."

"Stephen." Elizabeth didn't stand. Her smile looked strained. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I've been so busy. And I didn't think you'd want to see me, given the circumstances. I expected you'd be upset, with the investigation being re-opened. I thought I'd give you your space."

"Did you come back to town just to help with Carolyn's disappearance? Whenever I've invited you to visit, you've turned me down. You told me you'd never come back to Port Charles."

Robert replied for her, "Ms. Beaty's in town coincidentally, on business."

Stephen looked confused. Elizabeth stood. "Stephen," she spoke quickly, "I hate to say hello and goodbye, but I have to run—I have another appointment. I promise I can explain everything. Call me, okay? Call me this later this afternoon. Maybe we can have dinner. Let me fill you in on what's been happening." She picked up her bag and coat. "Thank you for the report, Robert. I look forward to seeing you again soon." She turned and left.

Robert tried to catch Stephen off-guard, tried to ask his questions before the other man could think better of replying honestly. "A moment ago when I told you that Elizabeth was in Port Charles on business, you seemed surprised," he told Stephen. "Am I right? Do you mind me asking what that was about?"

Stephen seemed almost disoriented. "I just wasn't aware Elizabeth was working for anyone. She's never had a job before. I _was_ surprised."

Robert gestured for Stephen to sit down. "What do you mean, she's never had a job?"

Stephen sat down, began removing his scarf, unbuttoning his coat. "She's never needed to work. Her father's rich. Surely you've noticed she has money. She's a woman of leisure. I can't believe she's actually employed."

"You've known her since high school, right? How did you meet?"

"Not in school. It sounds cliché – I worked at the country club cutting lawns; she sat by the pool. One day she spoke to me, I think to make her mother angry. We became friends. After high school we went off to different ivy league universities. I was on full scholarship; she paid full tuition. I studied law; she studied English literature. She got a masters degree but decided a PhD was too much work. She quit and moved to New York. I have no idea what she does with her time, but she seems to fill it."

Robert considered this new information. "Do you know who her parents are, what they do, where their money comes from?"

Stephen shook his head. "I learned not to ask. It's a sensitive subject. There were malicious whispers."

"Mob?" Robert asked, afraid of the answer.

"No, worse. It was rumoured her father was in munitions, was some kind of arms manufacturer. All above-board, you understand, government contracts, that kind of thing, but still disturbing. I never met the guy. He wasn't often home, thank god, and he never showed any interest in meeting Elizabeth's friends."

Robert suddenly felt very worried about Elizabeth's research into his past.

Twenty minutes later, he'd finished filling Stephen in on the investigation. When Robert told him about Alan's disappearance, Stephen looked nonplussed. "I knew about that," he told Robert. "Trust me, it has nothing to do with Carolyn. The two events are not connected. You're wasting your time following a false lead."

Robert noted the tension in Stephen's shoulders, the strain behind his eyes.

* * *

><p>"I've refined my earlier theory" Robert told Anna as he paced in front of her desk. She sat in her chair, amused, watching him stride back and forth excitedly. "First possibility: Alan disappeared six months after Carolyn, when he left to join her before the birth of the baby. They couldn't leave together because it would rouse Stephen's suspicions, and they were worried about what he'd do. Stephen was violent. Carolyn left first; then Alan laundered his money through a Belizean bank. He and Carolyn travelled together to the Seychelles, then to Cyprus, then to Latvia. Alan had to ensure the money couldn't be traced by Elizabeth because he was worried about being found by Stephen."<p>

Anna frowned. "Okay, but this doesn't account for the small amount of money transferred: what made that possible? Why was such a small account set up for a shell company?"

Robert stopped pacing, turned to face Anna, and smiled. "Possibility two, and this is the one I really favour: the money was transferred not by Alan but on Alan's behalf."

Anna leaned back in her chair. "On his behalf? By whom? And for what reason?"

"By Elizabeth." Robert grinned. He started to move again. "First bit of evidence: she didn't react to anything I said, suggesting she already knew what I was going to tell her. Second bit of evidence: her father is filthy rich, suggesting that she (or her father) had the ability and knowledge to hide money, the connections that would allow them to do so, and the loyalty of certain trusted companies who would condescend to transfer Alan's (to them) pathetic stash of money."

Anna crossed her arms. "Why would Elizabeth and/or her father help finance Alan's escape to meet and live with his pregnant mistress?"

Robert stopped again and stood in front of Anna's desk; he leaned over, supporting himself with his hands as he looked her directly in the eye. "To get rid of him. Elizabeth found him boring. She didn't want his child. And he was an embarrassment to the wealthy _pater_. There are tons of potential reasons."

"I don't know, Robert," Anna looked skeptical. "It seems unnecessarily complicated. Let's review: Carolyn was pretending to try to get pregnant by her husband but was really trying to get pregnant by her lover. She fled to avoid her violent spouse, was helped to flee by her lover's wife, who saw the opportunity to be rid of a boring husband. Carolyn flew from the Seychelles to Cyprus to Latvia when she was heavily pregnant. And Alan and Carolyn are now living happily somewhere in Latvia with their love child."

Robert's smile fell. "Well," he admitted, "when you put it that way, it sounds less plausible." He straightened, stepped back, sat down in a chair, looked slightly dejected.

Anna sighed. "Full points for creativity. But I suspect the answer, though it still might be strange, is much simpler. We have two missing persons. We have only Elizabeth's word that Alan left her. She might even believe this, but it doesn't make it true. I think it's very likely that Carolyn and Alan are dead. We have no bodies, but neither do we have clear evidence that they're still alive. The real question is, if they are dead, were their deaths related?"

"And who would want them both dead? _Were_ they having an affair? Did Stephen learn about it?"

"Why were they killed six months apart?"

Robert thought. "Maybe Stephen knew Carolyn was cheating on him but didn't know with whom. He killed her first, and when he eventually found out about Alan he finished the job."

"Okay. Any other possibilities?"

"Elizabeth killed Carolyn and Alan for the same reason in reverse: Alan was cheating on her with Carolyn."

"Again, why kill them six months apart? And why kill Carolyn first?"

Robert thought again. "I don't know. New theory: maybe she found out Carolyn was cheating on Stephen and she decided to punish her for that? Then later she found out Carolyn had slept with her own husband?"

Anna shook her head. "Weak. I don't buy it."

Robert looked hopeful. "Maybe the arms-dealer father comes into it somehow?"

Anna pursed her lips. "I can't imagine how you'll bring him into the mix. This should be good. Fire away."

Robert thought, tried to come up with something, threw up his hands in defeat. "I've got nothing."

Anna leaned her elbows on the desk. "We _have_ learned something extremely important: you can't trust Elizabeth Beaty. You've caught her in what seems to be an obvious lie. She isn't in Port Charles on business, which suggests she came to town primarily because we've reopened the investigation into Carolyn's disappearance."

Robert rolled his chair up to the desk and bent forward toward Anna. "I'm afraid I neglected to mention one other thing, something that's left me slightly unsettled. Elizabeth hinted that she's been investigating me. I'm more than a bit concerned about what she might have learned."

Anna frowned.

A puzzled look came over Robert's face. "And for some reason I want to mention to you that she's had her hair cut. Something about her appearance has been nagging at me since I first saw her today. I don't know: Elizabeth Beaty seemed strangely familiar, though I can't for the life of me figure out why."

Anna's expression became cautious, neutral. "Does she remind you of Katherine?"

Robert shook his head. "That's what I thought at first. Two beautiful blondes, tall, both impeccably turned-out. There are logical points of comparison. But that's not it."

"Thank god," Anna muttered.

Robert took her hand. He said, "I suspect I'm having trouble figuring out who she reminds me of because I'm currently preoccupied by thoughts of someone else." But Anna wasn't listening to him anymore. She was staring off into the corner of the room. Robert squeezed her hand. "Anna?"

Anna's attention jolted back. "What, Robert? Sorry. What did you say?"

Robert grabbed her other hand and leaned in still further. "I hope I didn't upset you yesterday. It was just my stupid pride; I wondered why you didn't have any pictures of us, of me. I didn't want to remind you of anything unpleasant."

Anna forced herself to smile. "I know that."

"You can do whatever you want with the past—keep it in a box if you need to. All I really want from you is the present and the future."

Anna looked at Robert intently. "Sometimes you know just the right thing to say, Scorpio," she told him. "You could make a fortune writing greeting cards."

Robert grinned.


	16. Chapter 16

Elizabeth was back in her penthouse, blazer flung carelessly over the back of a chair. She'd sprawled herself out on the bed; her laptop lay beside her; her eyes were locked on the screen. There was a knock at the door. Her head turned sharply; she sat up quickly, kicked her legs off the bed, walked out of the bedroom and over to the door. "Who is it?" she asked.

"Room service," came the reply. "I have your order, Ms. Beaty."

Elizabeth unlocked the door, swung it wide, smiled broadly. "Please bring it in. And thank you." As he wheeled in his cart, Elizabeth went to get her purse, rummaged in it for a large bill, folded and passed it to the young man with graceful charm. "Have a wonderful evening."

The young man smiled back, nodded his head in grateful acknowledgement, and backed out of the door. Just then Elizabeth's phone rang; she ran back to her purse, found the phone, picked it up, and noticed it was Stephen calling. She sent the call to voicemail and tossed the phone back into her bag. She walked into the bedroom, leaned over the bed, grabbed her laptop, brought it out into the main suite and over to the large dining table. She set it up where she could easily see it, wheeled over her dinner, and transferred the various plates from the cart to the table. She'd paused a news conference she'd accessed via the WLPC News webpage. Before she sat down, she bent toward the computer and pressed play.

" '. . . standstill. The PCPD is encouraging anyone who witnessed suspicious behaviour on the night of the shooting to come forward.'

'The Commissioner will now take questions. Yes? '

'Thanks. Eric Jackson, WLPC. Commissioner, what happens if witnesses are too frightened to give evidence? Can the PCPD offer them any protection?'

'Any information we receive will be kept strictly confidential. Right now we're not looking to find witnesses willing to appear in court. We just need citizens to step forward and help us with the initial investigation. No names will be revealed, to the press or to anyone else.'

'Just to follow up: can you guarantee confidentiality when the lead detective on the case is related to the prime suspect, Sonny Corinthos? Isn't Detective Falconeri his son?'"

Elizabeth had already watched this news conference several times; it was old, posted two weeks earlier. But still she examined it carefully as she ate.

Anna Devane pursed her lips as she prepared to answer the question. Elizabeth hit pause and studied her expression. Then she hit play again.

"'I have the utmost confidence in the integrity of Detective Falconeri . . .'" Anna Devane began.

* * *

><p>Anna sat curled in a large armchair (her favourite recent purchase) strategically placed in the corner of her living room right next to the apartment's floor-to-ceiling windows. She was reading but occasionally looked up and over her glasses to stare out into the night over the water. A glass of red wine beside her on a small side table, she gradually felt the tension of the day ease and her muscles relax. She thought with gratitude how nice it was to be somewhere she could call home. She'd been wrong to think of the apartment as a burden.<p>

She heard the sound of a key in the lock. "I'm back." Robert let himself in, two grocery bags in hand. "And I come bearing food. You now have a full-sized refrigerator, not a mini-bar, so we might as well stock it. I bought vegetables, fruit, bread. And the fixings for a nice dinner which I, a modern man secure in my masculinity, will now go prepare for you." He slipped off his shoes and walked into the kitchen.

Anna sat, book down, glasses perched on her nose. She smiled to herself. "Help yourself to the wine," she called after Robert. "I may not have bought food, but I did manage to stock the apartment with liquor. I've got my priorities straight. And you're welcome." Anna turned back to her book. In a moment, Robert padded into the living room, glass of wine in hand; she ignored him, smiling, until he loomed over her chair.

"Thank you," he said, leaned over and kissed her. "What are you reading?"

Anna showed him the cover of her book. Robert made a face. "Agatha Christie? Shouldn't you be reading a trashy romance or something? Don't you get enough crime and mystery at work?"

Anna pulled the book back, a little bit offended. "I bought it on impulse. I used to read Agatha Christie when I was a teenager."

"Now you're a grown woman. Read _Fifty Shades of Grey_. I hear that's good."

Anna ignored him. "I wanted to be just like Tuppence Cowley."

"You're worth at least thruppence, Luv."

"And I wanted to marry someone like Tommy Beresford and solve mysteries. Silly, really."

"Two out of three isn't bad. I assume I'm nothing like the aforementioned Tommy, given your tone. Anyway, I'm glad you didn't want to be just like Miss Marple the spinster. Or Hercule Poirot, come to think of it. Enjoy your book.

She looked up. "Do you need help with dinner?"

Robert made a face, spun on his heel, and headed back to the kitchen.

Anna's jaw dropped and her mouth opened in mock-indignation. "I'm not as bad a cook as you and Robin make out. I learned a few things from Filomena and Olin."

"Chief on that list, how to get others to cook for your child," Robert called out just as he was rounding the corner to the kitchen.

Anna threw her book after him. "Come back here and say that to my face," she ordered. Then, to herself she muttered, "Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black? I don't remember you ever making Robin and I dinner. Male chauvinist."

She thought for a second, then asked, "Robert? What are you making? I'm starved." She waited for an answer, got none. She got up, stretched, her hands pushing on her low back. Something in her hip cracked. Anna started for the kitchen. "Robert?" Her book was pressed up against the far wall, its pages splayed. She picked it up and tried to straighten them. She poked her head around the corner. "Robert?"

Robert was on the phone. He held up his hand. Anna stayed quiet. "Thanks for the information, mate. Yeah. I owe you one. Yeah, we will. Talk to you again soon." Robert hung up.

"What was that about?" Anna asked, clutching her book to her chest. "What information?"

"Frisco's doing a bit of digging into Ms. Beaty's father. Stephen was right—he's in weapons production. His company manufactures the hardware and software for guidance systems, has done since missiles first went high-tech. He's filthy rich."

"And dangerous?"

"No evidence of that. He's an upstanding citizen of the United States of America. No criminal record, no security flags with the FBI, CIA, NSA, WSB. He just happens to make his living manufacturing weapons of mass destruction."

Anna slowly walked up beside Robert. "And here I was feeling all calm and comfortable and happy. I should have known that feeling couldn't last."

Robert smiled. "No more business talk for the rest of the night, I promise. Just a nice dinner, a few drinks, and then (dot, dot, dot)."

Anna put her book on the counter. "I like the sound of dot, dot, dot. Could I have that first, please?"

"I thought you said you were starved?"

Anna pressed herself against him. "I am. I'm just worried that, after a few drinks, the dot, dot, dot might not be possible anymore, might not happen, you being an older man . . ."

Robert stared at her for a moment, then grabbed her, picked her up. Anna laughed, wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. "I'll show you 'older man,'" he growled. He carried her back into the living room and down the hallway.

* * *

><p>Anna, naked except for Robert's shirt, hastily thrown on and unbuttoned, darted back into the bedroom. "I got it," she told him, "and I don't <em>think <em>I gave anyone an eyeful. I've got to get window coverings. Don't let me forget." She put one wine glass down on the night stand next to Robert, moved over to her side of the bed, set down the bottle and second glass on her own night stand. Then she hurried back into bed and under the covers.

"We're doing everything in reverse," Robert observed; "dot, dot, dot, then drinks, then dinner. We won't be finished eating until midnight."

"And now I'm freezing!" Anna complained. "Before I was so nice and warm and relaxed." She smiled, leaned over and gave Robert a long kiss. Then she turned, grabbed the wine bottle, gestured for Robert to hand her his glass. She filled it. She grabbed her own, poured out more of the wine. She replaced the bottle on the stand, turned back, and held up her glass. "I'd like to propose a toast."

Robert smiled back. "To what?"

Anna thought. "I don't know. To finally having a home again? To going home by moving forward?" She paused and grew serious. "You're my home, Robert. You always have been. I'm finally home."

Robert lifted his glass. "We're home."

* * *

><p>As predicted, when they finished dinner it was very late. Robert offered to clean the dishes, and so Anna cleaned her face, her teeth, and crawled into bed. By the time Robert joined her she was fast asleep. He carefully lay down next to her, not wanting to wake her, and quickly fell asleep himself.<p>

Suddenly he was jolted awake. His training kicked in; he sat bolt upright in bed, his arms out in a defensive posture, eyes scanning the room for danger. Almost immediately he noticed Anna seated, rigid, by his side. He reached for left her hand; she was bathed in a cold sweat. Robert wasn't sure if he'd been awakened by her movement or if they'd both reacted to a sound in the apartment. "Anna?" he whispered. "What's going on? What's wrong? I put my gun in the night stand—should I get it?"

Her voice was unsteady. "Robert. I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep."

"Did you hear something? Is everything all right?"

Anna didn't move, held herself stiffly, her muscles taut, one arm wrapped around her, her right hand at her stomach. "I had a bad dream, Robert. Everything's fine. There's no danger. I'm sorry."

Robert relaxed. He twisted to turn on the bedside lamp, then back to study Anna. She was white, shaky, but forced herself to smile. "I'm okay, Robert. Just a nightmare. Don't worry."

Robert reached up and brushed a few stray hairs, wet with perspiration, from Anna's face. "What was the dream about, Luv? Can you remember?"

"No," Anna lied. "No I can't. Probably something ridiculous. I had too much wine."

Robert leaned back against the pillow and headboard, pulled her back with him, put his arms around her protectively. "You're safe," he told her. "I won't let anything happen to you." And for some reason he wasn't aware of, he added, "Faison's dead. He'll never hurt you, Robin, or us again."

Anna's mouth went dry. She closed her eyes and, despite everything she'd said to Robert earlier, she wished she could go _back_, could go _back_ home, back to the Webber house, back to the time before Faison took her, when things were perfect and hopeful and before she'd ruined it all.

* * *

><p>On Monday afternoon, Victor knocked on the door of the penthouse suite at the Port Charles Hotel. The knock was answered by Mei Wu's assistant. The two subordinates nodded at each other in respectful mutual recognition. "Mr. Giordano, here to see Ms. Wu," Victor explained. Mei Wu's assistant ushered them in.<p>

The suite was lavish but dated, Victor noted; the Metro Court seemed somehow more urbane, if slightly cold—perfect for his boss. Victor and Giordano were invited to sit in the living room on a teal couch that was fashionably plush back in the late 1990s, but not any longer. Victor imagined, with something bordering on pleasure, that Giordano was likely being driven to distraction by the suite's decor.

Wu's assistant asked them if they wanted refreshments. Victor would have said yes but Giordano waved away the offer. They were told Ms. Wu would join them momentarily. They waited in silence.

And then she entered. Victor observed her carefully, having never met the woman before. She appeared strangely ageless—not young but not old, rather some indeterminate age in between. She was dressed in white: white shirt, white slacks, white boots. An odd choice for winter, Victor thought. And didn't white signify death in Chinese culture? A hint of a smile passed Victor's lips. He decided he liked this woman.

Giordano stood, and Victor followed. "Ms. Wu," Giordano spoke. "It's an honour and privilege to finally meet you. I apologize for the accommodations—I had no idea the other penthouse was taken at the Metro Court. It's no one associated with me, I promise you."

Ms. Wu neglected to smile. "Mr. Giordano, it's a pleasure to meet you as well." She spoke in perfect English with a noticeable British accent, betraying her foreign education. She gestured for Giordano and Victor to sit again. "Shall we get down to business? The club is almost ready to open?" She took a seat in a rose-coloured arm chair oriented perpendicular to the couch.

Giordano sat again and nodded. "I toured it recently. The renovations are almost complete, and our first shipment has been received and stored. The second arrives early Wednesday morning. This shipment includes product. Will you be sending someone to inspect and oversee the division?"

Mei Wu nodded. "Yes. Name the time and place. My assistant and another associate will come and make the inspection. We won't take possession of our share at this time—please understand that our networks aren't yet established. I only arrived the other day. Activities in the Asian Quarter have been neglected for years, have been allowed to function without any central administration. I need to gather certain individuals under my wing and, after that, deal with those who refuse my generous protection. I imagine I'll need a few weeks."

Giordano smiled. "This should be a very lucrative partnership, Ms. Wu. I have no interest in the Asian Quarter; you have no interest in Canada. We'll split the product: one-fifth for you, for local distribution, and four-fifths for me, for distribution north of the border."

He stood, and Victor followed. "The shipment arrives Wednesday morning at 3:00 a.m., 264 Shore Drive. Tell your men to come to the side door—it will be open." Giordano gave a curt bow. "We won't detain you any longer."

Mei Wu's assistant saw them to the door. She gazed after them, impassive.

* * *

><p>Tuesday at 10:00 a.m., Anna's head was throbbing; she was leaned over her desk, eyes shut. The nightmare had woken her again early that morning. Luckily Robert hadn't stirred; she must not have jolted but somehow smoothly surfaced out of the dream. The physical pain had evaporated as she lay in bed, sharp at first, next aching and dull, finally just a memory. But the other pain still clung to her, coated her. She'd left for work early, before Robert woke up.<p>

She should call him, she thought, let him know she was okay. But she'd be lying. He'd hear in her voice that something was wrong. And this was something she just couldn't tell him. She'd seen his relief when she'd told him she hadn't been pregnant. If he knew he'd blame himself, though everything had been her fault. Anna took off her glasses and pressed her index fingers into the corners of her eyes, trying to will away her headache.

When she'd regained her memory, she'd remembered Robin first; then, with much trauma, Robert. After that, for a long time she'd remembered nothing else: almost nothing about her time on the yacht, and less still what happened after the explosion. And then one day, years after her reunion with Robin, soon after discovering Robert was alive, there was a new memory—clear, specific, detailed. She'd been on assignment in Sint Eustatius, of all places, trying to locate a bombing suspect, a former IRA terrorist, someone who'd slipped through the cracks and under a false name had spent an undeserved retirement living in paradise. For some reason, while she was looking out over the water, watching waves crash into the rocky shoreline, it had come to her. She remembered lying near the edge of her bed in Faison's yacht, in the room that was her prison, frantic with new knowledge that she needed to get away. The feeling of desperation was intense: she needed to save the baby, needed to save their baby. Anna saw the room in crystal clarity; she felt again the pattern of the bed covers as they pressed into her face. She remembered realizing she was pregnant. She remembered feeling alone and frightened, for herself and for her child.

* * *

><p>Robert stood at the door to his daughter's house, hesitant. He thought again about that morning, about Anna getting out of bed before 4:00, trying not to wake him, leaving for the office before 5:00. He knocked. It opened.<p>

"Dad!" Robin exclaimed and hugged him. "Come in! Why didn't you call? You almost missed me—I was just about to go do some shopping."

Robert stepped inside. "I won't take too much of your time," he promised. "Just a quick coffee?"

Later, as they sat together on the couch, Robert asked how she was enjoying her new life of leisure.

Robin laughed. "I'm going out of my mind. This forced leave from General Hospital is completely unnecessary; I'm ready to go back. I meet with a psychiatrist next week Monday, some kind of evaluation to see if I'm fit for work again after my 'ordeal.' It's ridiculous. Don't they know who my parents are? All my life I've dealt with weird shit like this. Everything's fine now that I'm home." She smiled. "And how are you coping with _your_ forced leave? How many more months until you get back into the field? "

"Five, but who's counting?"

"You must be going stir-crazy."

Robert shook his head. "Actually I'm enjoying helping your mother. I'm keeping occupied."

Robin's expression was suspicious; she turned her head slightly and looked at her father through the corners of her eyes. "As I recall, you never liked playing second banana to Mom. You had serious trouble taking orders from her when she was in charge of the investigation into the cartel."

"I've mellowed with age," he suggested, and then took a deep breath. "Speaking of your mother, why were you worried about her the other day?"

Robin shifted, leaned back into the couch. "Well, she called me after midnight, which scared the hell out of me—I thought something was wrong. And there was a tone in her voice. I can't really describe it, but it made me uneasy. I've thought about it since, and I think I found it disturbing because it reminded me of how she was years ago when we first reconnected, when she was first in the process of regaining her memories. She sounded different then, Dad. In every conversation we had she seemed hesitant but also somehow desperate. Everything she said was heavy with emotion, with significance—with I don't know what. And she sounded that way again when she called me."

Robert looked down at the coffee cup in his hands. "She hasn't mentioned anything to you about bad dreams, has she?"

Robin frowned. "No. Is she having nightmares? What are they about?"

"She says she doesn't remember, but I suspect she just won't tell me. I hoped maybe she'd discussed them with you."

"Mom's always worked really hard to hide unpleasant things from me, Dad. I can understand why she did it when I was a child, but I wish she'd open up to me now that I'm an adult."

Robert put his cup down on the coffee table. "She's been the same with me. She's always worked hard to protect everyone but herself."

Robin reached over and touched her father's hand. "She might still open up to you. Give her a chance."

Robert looked up. "I can't help feeling that I'm the reason for the nightmares, Robin. Do you know she keeps all the photographs of me, of us, of our life together in a box hidden away somewhere in a closet? Why? Because of the memories they trigger? Now I'm back in her life, in her bed, sitting next to her at breakfast, working at a desk at the station. What exactly am I reminding her of? Is that what she's dreaming about? Am I responsible for triggering something and making her suffer all over again?"

Robin smiled at him encouragingly. "Maybe she needs to face up to something, something she's been avoiding. I think Mom's suppressed a lot of things, Dad. Maybe you need to help her deal with whatever's bothering her. I'm biased, obviously, but I can't see anything negative coming from you being back in Mom's life. If there's any justice in this world, after everything that's happened, you two should be together and be happy."

Robert thought, and nodded.

* * *

><p>It was after lunch and Robert hadn't yet been to the station—or at least he hadn't been to see her. Anna picked up her cell phone to call him, but then the desk phone rang. She answered.<p>

"Commissioner? Duke Lavery to see you. Are you available?"

Anna snapped to attention. "Yes. Send him in." Why was Duke here, she wondered. She straightened herself in her chair, arms on the desk, hands clasped, finger interlaced. Did he have information for her?

He walked in. She thought his shoulders looked stooped. "Anna," he said. "Excuse the interruption."

Anna pressed her lips together. "I thought you never wanted to see me again. I was under the distinct impression that you felt I'd betrayed you."

Duke didn't respond; instead he asked, "You told me Sonny Corinthos had arranged for the PCPD to find evidence that I was at the warehouse on the night of Max's shooting—what is that evidence?"

Anna motioned for him to sit down, and he did. She pulled up a file on her computer, turned her monitor to face him. "This is the only video surveillance from the warehouse district that includes potential evidence. No one else is seen approaching or leaving the area of Sonny's business, either because they knew (or were told) the streets and back alleys to avoid or because surveillance records were interfered with, erased." She started the video. Duke saw himself on the screen.

When the video ended, Anna turned to look at him. "You need to ask yourself who you trust more," she told him, "Corinthos or me. I think Sonny has put you in a very dangerous position, Duke. You're dealing with people who don't play by the old family rules anymore. This is not Victor Jerome's mob. It's something very different."

Duke didn't reply. He just stood and walked to the door. Before he left, he turned back for a moment and cast a look at Anna that she thought might be of regret. Then he was gone.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes later, Robert knocked at her door. She called for him to enter. He walked in, smiled. They looked at each other. She stood, walked around her desk to him. He opened his arms and she moved into them. They stood there together for a long time, saying nothing.<p>

* * *

><p>At Kelly's, Duke accepted the offered cup of coffee and smiled at Deborah. She really was a lovely young woman, he thought. And he was now a free man. "Keep the change," he told her. Folded in with the five dollar bill he gave her was another note. "You sold me out, son of a bitch," it read. "Our partnership is over. Watch your back."<p> 


	17. Chapter 17

For all her talk about the present and the future, Anna could feel the past slowly seeping back and engulfing her. She'd dreamt it all before, though not as often as she did now. And before it had been less disorienting; after all, she'd been alone. Now when she had the dream she'd fall asleep with 2014-Robert by her side and turn over to see 1991-Robert smiling back at her, telling her good-morning, telling her he loved her, pulling her toward him. In the dream they made love for what Anna knew would be the last time. She was inconsolable after, which of course hadn't really happened—she hadn't cried like that because she hadn't known, couldn't know that she would be snatched away from her life later that same day.

Sometimes she would wake up at this point in the dream, sad and empty. Sometimes the dream continued: she was on the yacht again at the moment of realization, lying on her bed, arms wrapped around her chest, legs pulled up into her stomach, her mind racing: how to get away, how to signal for help, how to keep safe, how to keep Faison from noticing her condition. It was early days yet but in three months, four months, she wouldn't be able to hide the truth any longer, even if she succeeded in keeping him at arm's length. The idea that he might touch her while she was pregnant was especially repulsive.

Still other nights the dream progressed to its terrible conclusion: pain and blood, emptiness and despair. This part of the dream was always confused and fragmented; her memories, when they'd finally come, had been indistinct, hazy and muddled, and they'd never resolved themselves and become clear inside or outside of the dream. She heard her own voice and felt herself screaming; she sensed searing heat and something, wetness, between her legs. Anna assumed she was remembering the aftermath of the explosion and that her memories were in disarray because of her head injury; she suspected months of memories of her convalescence were irrecoverable. Someone kind like Tom Hardy would, she was sure, tell her the memory loss was for the best, her mind's way of protecting her.

Now when she woke from the dream, at whatever stage, in whatever state, Robert was there, sometimes awake, sometimes asleep. But he was always more than twenty years older than the man in her dream, a realization that never failed to produce a final fresh sting of grief. If he was awake, she'd reassure him that she was fine. If he was asleep, she'd lie on her side and watch him until her eyes grew heavy.

* * *

><p>On Wednesday morning, Duke, Giordano, Victor, Ms. Wu's assistant, and her associate waited for the truck to arrive. It never did. Two days later, the driver's body was found floating in the harbour without identification. His finger prints weren't on file, no one had reported him missing, and so the PCPD arranged for a photograph of the man, his face only slightly distorted by his time in the cold water, to be broadcast on the news, printed in the local paper, and published on local websites in the hope that someone could identify him. That's how Duke recognized the dead man as the driver who'd delivered the first shipment weeks before. It was the second death consequent to his deal with Sonny Corinthos, Duke realized. The first had been the figurative demise of his relationship with Anna. This second death, the literal death of a man he'd never really known, caused him a temporary pang of conscience. But it soon passed.<p>

Giordano was livid. "Who the fuck," he railed when Duke had told him about the driver, "would be stupid enough to mess with our shipment, Lavery? Does my reputation not precede me? Are people around here under the mistaken impression I'm some overly polite country cousin who'll turn, tail between my legs, muttering 'sorry, sorry, je m'excuse' all the way back across the international border? Who do I go after to get my product back? Who do I hold responsible for this? Who should pay?"

Duke made a show of considering his response carefully before he spoke. "The Jeromes," he began, "are almost certainly responsible for the robbery and for the death of the driver. If you find the Jeromes and make them talk, you'll find the shipment."

He paused, performed looking hesitant although he wasn't. He'd thought about his next moves long and hard. "But I'm certain the man behind it all," he continued, "is Sonny Corinthos. I thought Corinthos and the Jeromes were on opposite sides, but I'm more and more convinced that they're working together. They want to force you and Wu out of town and think that task will be easy. Once you're gone, they'll resume their old hostilities. I suspect that's what's going on here."

Giordano stared at Duke for a moment without visible reaction. Then he smiled. This sudden apparent shift in mood was profoundly unsettling. "I guess I know what I have to do, then. Thank you, Mr. Lavery. I'll be in contact once I locate our shipment. In the meantime, please continue preparing the club for its opening night. That's one week from today, if I'm not mistaken – next Friday? I hope you're planning an impressive soiree."

With that Giordano left. Duke wondered what would happen next.

* * *

><p>When Julian's men reported what they'd discovered in the shipment—a half-a-million-dollars-worth of heroin—and asked what they should do with it, Julian didn't bat an eye.<p>

"Destroy it," he told them. "We can't move any of it, so dump it in the harbour. Split the bags open and eliminate any and all trace."

When one of the men objected, Julian grabbed him by the neck and pushed him hard against the wall of his office. "I said destroy it," Julian repeated. "We don't have the networks to distribute the product; we'll risk getting caught if we try to move the stuff. The important thing is that we've taken it from Corinthos. We don't need to gain as long as he loses. Do as I order."

So late on Sunday night, four days after the driver of the van had met a similar fate, thirty thousand dollars worth of stolen alcohol was dumped into the harbour along with almost all the heroin hidden among the bottles. The man Julian had threatened kept just enough to sell on the side to make his own small bonus—and just enough to make him a person of interest to Giordano's and Wu's men and women who, already fanned out across the city and established as the new concern in town, had him pegged and were following him by Thursday.

* * *

><p>That same morning, Detective Falconeri knocked on Anna's door and popped his head into her office. "Chief?" he asked, "Do you have a few minutes?"<p>

Anna waved him in. "Of course. What do you want to discuss?"

Dante was holding something up. "I wasn't sure if you'd heard—the club is having its grand opening tomorrow night. I managed to score a couple of tickets. A friend of a friend got them for me; I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have been able to buy them myself. I don't think I would be on the official guest list." He handed them over for her to inspect.

"Nor would I be," Anna mused, taking the tickets. She furrowed her brow. "Is your heart set on attending, Mr. Faconeri?"

Dante shook his head. "Given what you've told me about the club's foreign investors, I'm not sure in what capacity I'd be more hated at the club: as Sonny Corinthos' son or as lead detective with the PCPD. Plus, I don't own a tux."

Anna raised her eyebrows. "It's a black-tie affair? That's surprising."

Dante gestured toward the tickets in her hand. "Take a look—assigned seats, a five-course meal, champagne, dancing, the whole nine yards. It seems a bit old-fashioned to me. Did I mention my wife hates this kind of thing? Thank god. Do you want to go instead? I'll go, but only if you have no interest."

Anna smiled. "As it happens, I'm very interested. I'm curious to see who else will be there. Thank you, Dante. Make sure you fill out a requisition form and get your reimbursement. These tickets must have been expensive."

Dante raised his hand to his brow, saluted, and left the office.

* * *

><p>Robert was at the desk when Dante returned. "Agent Scorpio," he nodded. "Don't get up; I'm off to check things out around the club before it opens tomorrow night. The Commissioner's in her office if you need to see her about anything. Otherwise, make yourself comfortable; I'll be away from the desk for most of the day." He grabbed his coat and scarf and was gone.<p>

Robert's phone rang. He picked up. It was a woman's voice.

"I got your message, Bobbie. I've been expecting a call from you for months, you shit. What happened—you lose your memory while you were in your coma? Did you forget how to use a phone? If you ever get your ass back to Washington, I'll remind you why you always want to keep in touch with me."

He smiled. "Emma: no need to remind me, Babe—thanks anyway. And I'm sorry for not calling earlier. Things have been crazy out here." He braced himself for a reaction. "And actually, this isn't a social call. I need a favour."

A string of obscenities followed.

"I know, I know, I'm an ass. But I need you to check out a name for me—Jeff Hallam. It's almost certainly an alias, a false identity assumed by someone on the run. I've exhausted official channels here ; I know nothing you give me will be admissible in court, but I'm desperate for a lead. If I don't get something on this name, my investigation stalls."

"If I do this for you, what do I get in return?"

"How about dinner and drinks next time I'm in town?"

The female voice made another suggestion. Robert flushed.

"I don't think that'll be possible. As I said, it's been crazy out here. A lot has happened. But we'll talk about it later, yeah?"

"I don't like the sound of that. You find religion?"

Robert laughed. "Not religion, no. I'll talk to you again soon. And thanks."

Robert hung up, looked at the phone for a moment, considered and remembered, shook his head with just a hint of regret, and put the phone away.

* * *

><p>At five o'clock, he checked in with Anna. "You've been here since 7:00," he reminded her. "Ten hours seems a decent-enough shift. You ready to leave?"<p>

Anna lifted her head from the desk. "Shit. It's five already?" She squinted at the clock on the wall. "Damn. Robert, do you have a tuxedo?"

Robert looked blank. "With me? No. Wait a second—do I even still own one? How quickly do styles change? Could I wear one circa 2000? I think I had one for a job over in Montenegro. I'm not sure where I put it though. Or if I'd still fit into it."

Anna lifted her hands to her temples and applied light pressure. "It doesn't matter. I'm sure you can rent one. I wonder if anything's open tonight."

"When do I need it by?"

"Tomorrow evening, I'm afraid. We're going to the club opening. I have tickets."

Robert was intrigued. "Duke's club's opening? Not generally your style—rubbing salt in wounds. Why are we going?"

Anna frowned. "To make new acquaintances. I want to get to know our new enemies personally—Mr. Giordano and the mystery head of the triad. I haven't been able to get any intelligence on him yet."

Robert looked skeptical. "And you think they'll be there? Isn't that a bit—I don't know—brazen?"

Anna shrugged her shoulders. "They're the club's new investors. I suspect we have a better chance of seeing them at the opening than we do anywhere else or at any other time. Will you be my date?"

"If you help me find a tux," he promised. "What will you be wearing?"

Anna sighed and slumped into her chair. "I have absolutely no idea. I can't believe I used to have a closet full of gowns appropriate for just such occasions. I guess I'll have to find something as well. What do you say to a quick dinner and shopping excursion?"

* * *

><p>They were back at her apartment by 9:00, more-or-less prepared and both completely exhausted. Robert threw his garment bag over the back of a chair; Anna glowered, picked it up, and smoothed it out. "I'll take this and hang it up, shall I?" she asked; "Before it wrinkles? I'm off to take a bath after, Robert. I'll leave you to amuse yourself."<p>

Robert flopped on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. He let his head fall back and closed his eyes, felt himself slipping pleasantly into a light doze. Then his phone rang. He started, fumbled for it, answered without checking the number.

"Scorpio."

There was momentary silence. Then he heard an uncharacteristically soft voice on a bad line: "Robert? What the hell have you gotten me into?"

It was the woman he'd talked to earlier in the day. "Em, is that you? I can barely hear you. What's going on?"

"I'm calling from a payphone, Robert. I just spent an hour trying to make sure I wasn't followed. Right after we talked, I checked the WSB database for the name Jerry Hallam and I think my search was flagged. I found a file but it included minimal information—there was just another name and a nonsensical Latin phrase. When I searched the second name and the Latin, nothing came up. And maybe an hour later someone very scary-looking and _not_ very official-looking was at my door asking what I was working on. I made up a cock-and-bull story about a field agent making an inquiry, something he said he heard out on the street, but I'm not sure the guy bought it. Thanks for landing me in it. What the hell kind of case is this?"

Robert was suddenly worried for her. "It's better you don't know if your search provoked this kind of reaction. For the life of me I can't imagine why it did."

Emma's voice sounded farther away than Washington. "Well, the name that came up linked with Jerry Hallam was Sebastiaan Houtman. I think it's Dutch. I couldn't find anything on file about him. Do you know the name?"

Robert lied. "No, I don't. What was the Latin phrase attached?" he asked, suspecting he already knew.

"Well, like I said it's a fragment. It sounds familiar but I don't know why. It's "_artis bene_." I took Latin in university; it roughly translates to "the art of" doing something "well."

"My guess is '_moriendi_,'" Robert muttered. "The art of dying well."

"Oh fuck," Em breathed into the phone. "I've heard of that before—that's a medieval text, isn't it? Robert, tell me you haven't gotten me mixed up in some kind of weird Dan Brown _DaVinci Code_ shit. That guy in my office this afternoon wasn't a Knight Templar, was he?"

Robert's jaw clenched. "No, Sweetheart. He wasn't a member of a secret society. And the phrase is just sick college-boy humour—this has nothing to do with Jesus Christ's bloodline or the Holy Grail. I owe you big-time for this one, Em. I can't tell you anything more. Just stick to your story and feign complete ignorance. You'll be okay. Now go home and stay safe."

He heard her hang up, turned off the phone, and wondered what the hell he'd stumbled upon. He hadn't heard Bas Houtman's name since he'd left the bureau to work for the World Health Organization.

He'd never met the man. But Robert had known of him when he'd been forced to work off his and Anna's black box status by acting as a hired gun for the WSB. _Artis bene moriendi_: though it translated to "the art of dying well," in agency parlance it really meant "the art of killing well," and Robert had fallen under the program's purview. Bas Houtman had been the WSB's star assassin. He'd probably even been assigned to Robert and Anna's case before the explosion. And Robert had just learned that $50 000 from Elizabeth Beaty's bank account had been wired to one of his aliases.

He was certain now that Alan Schaber was dead. Bas Houtman had killed him and disposed of the body where it would never be found. No one but Robert, with his particular history with the WSB, could have discovered the connection. To anyone else, it looked very much like Alan had left his wife and absconded with the cash.

But why had Houtman taken the file? He wouldn't have been allowed to freelance. He must have done the hit, and accepted payment for it, on orders from the WSB. Why had the WSB wanted Alan Schaber dead? And had they wanted Carolyn Thompson dead as well?

Robert thought again of files he'd been given, of targets he'd eliminated.

"Robert?" Anna was standing in front of him. He hadn't noticed her come in. "Didn't you hear me? I'm going to bed. Will you be joining me?"

He forced himself to smile up at her. "I'll be in shortly. Don't wait up."

* * *

><p>But Anna did try to wait up. She could sense something was troubling him and she wanted to be awake and supportive if he needed her. So she read her book, finishing the last three chapters of Agatha Christie <em>Partners in Crime<em>. When she reached the last page, she stared blankly at the final lines. She'd forgotten how the novel ended.

Tuppence was telling her husband Tommy she wanted them to give up solving mysteries. She had something better for them to do, something more exciting, something they'd never done before. Tommy forbade her the new, more exciting thing; she responded that he couldn't forbid it, it was a "law of nature." She was having their baby.

"'I'm talking,' said Tuppence, 'of Our Baby. Wives don't whisper nowadays. They shout. OUR BABY! Tommy, isn't everything marvellous?'"

Anna took off her reading glasses, put the book back on her nightstand, turned off the light, and tried to will herself asleep. When Robert finally came in, she pretended she was.

And he, preoccupied with his own memories and regrets, was more careful than usual not to wake her.


	18. Chapter 18

Duke couldn't think of anything else that needed his attention. The wait staff had set the tables; the bar was stocked; the meal was being prepared; the band had already completed their sound check; members of the security staff had been given their stations and were just waiting for the guests to arrive. It was two hours before doors opened.

Giordano stopped by to check on the seating arrangements. Duke showed him to the table he'd reserved for him in the back corner. Giordano smiled and shook his head.

"No. Not at this table. I want to sit there instead." He pointed at the centre of the room, near the dance floor.

Duke's expression registered surprise. "Really? Wouldn't you prefer this more private table? From here you can see everything clearly but you're less exposed."

"I want to be exposed, Mr. Lavery." Giordano flashed his jackal-smile again. "Ms. Wu and I will be sitting _there_. We'll see you at 8:00." He looked around the room once more and then strode out. He seemed to have a bounce in his step.

* * *

><p>Anna emerged from the bathroom to see Robert adjusting his cufflinks and testing the comfort of his sleeves, shrugging his shoulders forward, his arms held out, bent, in front of him. He looked up at her. She smiled. "You look exquisite in that tuxedo, Robert," she told him. And he did. He still cut an impressive figure. And now that his hair was grey, his eyes seemed a more brilliant shade of blue.<p>

Robert smiled back, looked her over head to toe, and admired. Anna was dressed in a black tea-length cocktail dress with a subtly-sequined bodice. Its lines were simple and highlighted her slim, athletic figure. Never one for totteringly-high heels, she wore beautiful low black leather pumps that tapered into a thin toe. Her hair was straightened dramatically, and swept across and down her face. "Well?" she asked. "How do I look?"

"You look ravishing," he told her. "As beautiful as the day I met you."

"Liar," Anna laughed. She walked over to Robert, signaled for him to bend down. She gave him a soft, protracted kiss. He lifted a hand to brush her hair back very carefully from her face. "Although I'm pretty sure you're going to shoot me down and tell me we don't have time," he said, moving his head down to kiss her lightly on the neck, "I feel a sudden and urgent need to have my way with you, Ms. Divine. If I promise not to muss your hair, may I?"

Anna pushed him back, stroked his lapels. "What fun would it be if you didn't muss my hair, Scorpio? And it needn't take too much time. This dress looks tight but in fact it hikes up. I checked before I bought it."

Robert grinned and backed Anna up to the far wall. There he checked as well, and Anna was right. It did hike up very nicely indeed.

* * *

><p>Forty-five minutes later Robert was helping Anna out of a taxi. She waited for him as he paid the driver, and when he joined her, they stood for a moment without moving. They spoke in hushed tones without looking at each other, both staring ahead at the main door of the club.<p>

"I smell of sex, Robert. Do you think anyone will notice?"

"Now that we're back together, you always smell of sex to me, Anna. What do you care if anyone else notices?"

"I have a queer feeling about this." Anna's left hand reached for Robert's right. "And I'm strangely compelled at this moment to tell you how much I love you. I don't know why."

"Now you've got me worried. Here I was looking forward to a simple evening of dinner and dancing. My only comfort is that your woman's intuition has always been lousy."

"When I get a funny feeling, it's woman's intuition. When you get a funny feeling, it's finely-honed investigative instincts. Funny, that."

"Point taken. Just in case you're picking up on something real, I think we should agree not to leave the other's side, if possible."

"How about the other's sight?"

"More practical, I grant you, but less defensive."

"What happens if you and/or I need to use the washroom?"

Robert unclasped her hand and put his arm through her arm. They started for the door.

"Don't get cute, partner. Once more into the breach."

When they stepped through, they found themselves face to face with Duke. His face hardened when he saw them. "Anna," he said, and then with distaste, "Robert. I didn't know you'd be joining us this evening."

Anna took the tickets from her handbag. "The tickets were a gift, Duke. I didn't buy them. I wasn't sure we should come. But it's no secret that I'm very curious about your work. It seemed a perfect chance to find out more about what you're doing for your new employer."

Duke's expression didn't change. "What do you think of the club, Robert? Does it meet with your high standards?"

Robert made a show of looking around. The club was rather lavishly decorated and didn't agree at all with his cleaner, simpler aesthetic. "Yeah, it's alright," he offered. "The decor is maybe a bit late-1980s. I wouldn't necessarily complain about that—it was a good time for me personally." In a possessive gesture, he put an arm around Anna. " But I've been told one shouldn't live in the past."

"Maybe you could show us to our seats, Duke?" Anna suggested. Duke grimaced, motioned for them to follow him, and led them to a table near the back. Robert, flashing Duke a strangely challenging smile, held Anna's chair out for her. As Anna was sitting down, Duke told them "Your waiter will be with you shortly." He turned and left.

"You could have been a bit kinder, or even just personable," Anna grumbled. "There was no need to act so arrogantly. You're a poor winner, Robert Scorpio; you always have been."

"And you don't need," Robert informed her, "to be so damned forgiving and accommodating. Don't forget that guy tried to play you for a fool recently, Anna. And not for the first time."

"Well," she observed, "at least that unpleasantness is over. Now we can focus on other unpleasantness. Such as who else is here. Whom do you recognize?"

"Who do I recognize?" Robert asked. "Remember, I was in a coma for a year. Who do _you_ recognize?"

Anna squinted. "It's a bit dark. There are a few modestly-important business owners here. If I'm not mistaken, the woman at four o'clock is a city councillor. I think she's sitting with a gentleman who works at WLPC. That man at twelve o'clock—the one with the blonde in the inappropriately low-cut and high-slit dress—works with Baldwin in the District Attorney's office. I find him incredibly annoying. I don't know, Robert—excepting the dress, this seems a surprisingly staid bunch."

"Do you see Giordano or our mystery head of the triad?"

Anna shook her head. "Not yet. Maybe my finely-honed investigative senses were misfiring earlier. "

Their waiter arrived with the champagne. He opened the bottle and served them. Once he'd left, Robert raised his glass.

"A toast then?" he asked. Anna smiled and raised her glass as well. "To a pleasant evening not necessitating but encouraging declarations of love. And maybe, just maybe, to an early evening?" He dropped his voice. "I'm already imagining the kinds of things I'll do to you when we get back home."

Anna's smile had frozen.

Robert stopped his sexy-talk. "What? Did I say something concerning? "

Anna gestured as subtly as she could with her eyes, eyebrows, and the smallest movement of her head for Robert to follow her gaze. He shifted his head slightly and saw Duke escorting Gino Giordano and his female companion to their table. Giordano had his hand lightly pressed to the low back of a graceful Asian woman in a striking full-length white gown. Giordano held out her chair, casting an eye around the dimly-lit club as he did so. It was probably not possible, Anna thought to herself, given the darkness of their corner and the distance, but she imagined Giordano's gaze lingered momentarily when he looked in her direction and his smile broadened slightly. Then he sat down.

Anna fixed her eyes again more directly on Robert. "Our investors, down-centre-stage. I'll eat my hat if that woman isn't the gang leader we've been trying to identify."

"You're not wearing a hat."

"I need her name, Robert. Do you have any idea how I can get it?"

"By looking at Duke's guest list? His seating arrangement? There must be something up there at the door."

Anna rolled her eyes. "It couldn't be that easy. He'd hardly have written down 'Mob Boss Gino Giordano and Triad Gang-leader Amy Chu' on a seating chart."

Robert smiled. "Let's see, shall we?" He took a swig from his glass, stood, and strode off.

Anna tried to grab his hand before he left but she was too late. Five minutes later he arrived back at the table wearing a self-satisfied grin.

Anna was leaned down, one hand shielding her face, her elbow on the table. "Well? Don't tell me you found out something."

"I flashed my winning smile and told the head waitress my wife and I were absolutely mortified—we'd seen a couple across the way whose names we couldn't for the life of us remember but who go about in the same social circles. We were petrified they'd come to our table; we'd have to admit that we'd forgotten their names. So embarrassing. So she gave me a quick peek at the seating plan. Easy peasy."

Anna was incredulous. "And?"

Robert's smile disappeared. "Potentially disturbing news, I'm afraid. The man is Giordano—but then you already knew that. The woman's name is apparently Wu. It could be a coincidence, I suppose. It's a common enough name. Or it might not be. I think it would be prudent to be careful around her."

Anna considered this new piece of information and drained her glass.

* * *

><p>Despite the surprising and disquieting revelation of Ms. Wu's name, the first part of the evening unfolded relatively unremarkably. Their meal was served at 9:00; dancing commenced at 10:30. They watched the first few dances from their table; then Robert suggested the world wouldn't crumble if they left their vantage point and took a turn around the floor, and so they did. The third time they danced, Robert felt a light tap on his shoulder. He stopped, turned around, and saw Gino Giordano smiling back at him.<p>

"Mr. Scorpio," Giordano nodded, "I know you by reputation. As I know your lovely partner." He turned his gaze to Anna. "Commissioner Devane. Do you mind if I cut in? I've been wanting to make your acquaintance since I first arrived in Port Charles." He took Anna's hand and kissed it. "Enchanté."

"I'm not sure . . ." Robert began.

"Of course I'll dance with you, Mr. Giordano. You see, I know you by reputation as well."

Giordano bowed, moving his hand to his chest, acknowledging her recognition as an honour.

Anna shot Robert a look. "Go back to the table, Robert. I'll be with you shortly. It's fine."

Robert made his unhappiness obvious. She squeezed his hand. "Trust me. I'll be back at the table momentarily." Robert reluctantly turned and left.

With one hand, Giordano took Anna's and moved his other to the small of her back. They began to dance a foxtrot. "Mr. Scorpio seems very protective of you, Commissioner Devane," Giordano observed. "I suspect you can take care of yourself. Does his chivalry sometimes grow tiring?"

Anna arched her eyebrows. "We're protective of each other, Mr. Giordano, and of the people we love."

Giordano laughed. "Fine, fine. I assume that group includes Mr. Lavery—your other ex-husband, I understand—and your daughter and granddaughter."

Anna's grip on Giordano's hand and shoulder tightened. "I hope you're not making a veiled threat against my family. You should know that I don't take kindly to intimidation."

Giordano shook his head. "Not at all, Ms. Devane. I pose no threat to you or to your family. You have nothing to worry about from me personally. I give you my word."

Anna wondered what that word was worth but said nothing in reply.

* * *

><p>Robert was back at the table attempting to watch them closely. Anna was masking her feelings well, but even from a distance he could pick up on her tension, on the faint "tells" of her stress. He sat with level gaze, ready to leap to her defence. But then a body suddenly blocked his view of the dance floor. He found himself staring at an ample chest artistically displayed in the bodice of an expensive-looking black gown. He looked up.<p>

"Hello, Robert." It was Elizabeth. "Fancy seeing you here. Do you mind if I join you?"

Robert tried to look around her. "Actually, I'm here with someone, and she'll be back at the table shortly."

"I know who you're here with," Elizabeth smiled, arranging her dress carefully as she sat down. She bit her lip provocatively. "I know quite a lot about your date, in fact. She's your ex-wife, Anna Devane-Scorpio-Lavery. She's a fascinating woman. And the two of you have such a fascinating history together. And apart."

Anna and Giordano circled out past Elizabeth's shoulder before they disappeared again, behind her and into the crowd on the dance floor. Robert shifted his attention from them to the woman commanding his view. "What's your game, Ms. Beaty? Why are you really in town? Not for business. Not to meet with a client. Not according to your friend Stephen."

Elizabeth smiled. "You've caught me, Agent Scorpio. I'm in town for pleasure. For nothing but pure pleasure. Next question?"

Robert's eyes grew cold. "Why did you have your husband killed?"

Elizabeth broke into a wide, delighted grin and laughed with surprise. "Huzzah, Mr. Scorpio! I knew there was a chance you would find me out. I've done my research, you see, and I discovered your history with the WSB. Congratulations. You're probably one of only two or three people in the world who could have discovered what happened to my husband. More remarkably, you're likely the only person in the world who would care. This makes you very, very special."

* * *

><p>Giordano was a skilled dancer. He led Anna effortlessly around the dance floor, and as he did, he asked her if she'd ever visited his home town of Montreal. She told him that she hadn't travelled there in a very long time but she still knew quite a lot about the city. In fact, she'd recently learned a great deal more from new acquaintances who were informing her about its organized crime.<p>

Giordano smiled. "Ah. The Montreal police force. Trust me, Madame: You don't want to make friends with them. They have absolutely no imagination. The romance of the city is lost on them. Montreal is a city of old-world charm, old-world values, and old-world systems of governance."

"I prefer new-world systems of governance, Mr. Giordano. And I uphold them."

Giordano shrugged. "You don't prefer but _are_ a new-world system of governance, Ms. Devane. And that is why you and your family have nothing to fear from me."

Anna forced a smile. "I have no idea what you mean by that statement, Mr. Giordano."

Giordano twirled her around quickly and changed direction. "Ms. Devane, I regard you less as a person than as the context and structure in which I operate. You are part of the state apparatus, a cog in a machine, a widget in a system that operates according to the laws of, and produces something called, 'justice.' I am not a part of that machine, not a part of that system, but neither do I throw wrenches into its works. No, I operate in the spaces between the cogs and widgets without destroying the system. You can go on happily functioning while I do my business. In fact, I _prefer_ that you exist and structure my environment: it adds to the challenge of being me, of doing what I do. Without law and order, without rules and regulations, it would be incredibly easy to take the actions that I do! Without the law of gravity, feats of strength would be unimpressive. With gravity to work against, the strong man seems a marvel. You are the law of gravity. You have nothing to fear from me; I'm not a threat to you because I absolutely require that you challenge me, restrict my actions, make me better, make what I do wonderful. Do you understand?"

Anna stopped herself moving and her expression became unreadable. Giordano held her hand tightly, drew her in closer, stared into her eyes. "Don't you find me and the challenge I offer you the least bit exciting, Ms. Devane?" he asked breathily.

Then his expression shifted, lost its intensity, changed from excitement to contented pleasure. "By the way, do you have the time?" He smiled and looked in the direction of her wristwatch. "I see that you do. Would you mind telling me what it is? I'm afraid I forgot my watch at home."

He released her hand. She checked. "It's five minutes after eleven o'clock, Mr. Giordano," she told him.

He smiled. "Shall I see you back to your table, Ms. Devane?"

Anna stepped back from him, turned, and walked away.

* * *

><p>"Do you know what I wrote my MA thesis on, Robert?"<p>

Elizabeth had settled back into her chair, assuming a slight slump. Her arms were crossed at her chest. Robert didn't respond.

"Nineteenth-century American melodramas. Sadly neglected texts, and the origin of popular contemporary forms like the soap opera—a guilty pleasure of mine, I must confess; I've been watching _All My Problems _since I was a teenager. Anyway, everyone thinks melodramas were ridiculously naive and contemptible, but they weren't, and aren't. They're sophisticated little fairy tales a culture told itself to soothe fears inspired by the chaos and anarchy of the French Revolution, when neighbours sold out neighbours and sweet little old ladies sat knitting while severed heads rolled. Melodrama was and is a kind of collective cultural fantasy expressive of a wish for simple, clear morality and for the ability to distinguish good from evil and heroes from villains.

"Anyway, do you want to know why I found melodramas so engrossing and exciting?" Elizabeth smiled as Robert sat, impassive. "I can tell that you do. Two reasons. First, I loved the plot lines. In every melodrama you have a central secret, or maybe even multiple secrets. These secrets are gradually revealed through a combination of cause-effect chains of events and completely random occurrences and coincidences that lead characters to profound discoveries. For example," Elizabeth here grew serious, "a former WSB assassin helps his ex-wife investigate a missing person and discovers that the disappearance of a man peripheral to the case was, in fact, a murder. And he is the only person privy to the information necessary to solve that murder. You and I, Robert, are living and playing out a melodramatic plot."

Elizabeth paused to allow and to encourage Robert to say something, but he said nothing.

"The second reason I love melodramas is that they are obsessed with defining what constitutes evil and what constitutes good. They ask and answer how actions can be understood and evaluated as right or wrong. That fascinates me."

She continued: "In every melodrama you have a hero or heroine who is perfectly admirable: virtuous, righteous, with a finely-tuned moral compass. And in every melodrama you have his or her polar opposite, a villain who is perfectly awful, whose every action defines moral wrong. I'm sure you're familiar with the iconic melodramatic image of a damsel in distress tied to a railway track by a moustache-twirling scoundrel; she's rescued just in time by the dashing hero." Elizabeth leaned forward. "Indulge me for a moment: did you know that in the paradigmatic moment of this famous incident, in the play _Under the Gaslight _by Augustin Daly, it is in fact a _man_ who's tied to the track, and he's rescued by a _woman_? Isn't it funny how the roles have been reversed over time to conform to our broader cultural expectations of gender?

"Anyway, melodramas comforted nineteenth-century audiences with the ridiculous idea that morality can be easily and clearly defined. And you know, for reasons I won't get into, in my life I've wanted the same kind of certainty. But I've learned that morality is complicated. Heroes do villainous things. Heroines have failings. Villains might have had difficult childhoods. It's all very confusing." Elizabeth smiled.

Robert didn't react, didn't move. He had a bad feeling he was about to be presented with something profoundly upsetting. He asked, "You want to get to the point, Elizabeth? Are you trying to justify your own villainy? Is that what this is about?"

Elizabeth's expression grew serious. "Actually, this is a long-winded and extremely enjoyable way of me informing you that you can't do a damn thing about what you call my 'villainy.' You tell on me, I tell on you; it's as simple as that. This is what they call a stalemate. "

Robert stared at her. Elizabeth leaned over across the table and looked up at him through her lashes. She slightly furrowed her brow. "I've learned so much about you over the last few weeks. I don't mind confessing that I find you as fascinating as my melodramas. You're a hero character, Robert. But morality in the real world isn't as simple as it is in a play, now is it? I've read your file. Not the bogus file, the one Anna Devane could request and read, the one accessible through official channels. I'm talking about the real file, though I suspect certain information even there has been omitted. One thing in particular intrigues me. I'm going to ask, though I don't really expect an answer. Why didn't you take the deal they presented to you, Robert? When you recovered from the explosion and the WSB offered to let you collect your brain-damaged wife, take her off their hands and care for her, why did you say no? Why did you abandon her and leave her in their questionable care? That bit of information isn't in your file. And why did you abandon your child? Whence this blot on your proverbial white Stetson?"

Robert said nothing. He knew he shouldn't react, shouldn't give Elizabeth the satisfaction, but he couldn't control his own body. Before he could stop himself he was standing and walking away, heading toward the dance floor. He had to find Anna.

In a daze, Robert wound his way around tables and around elegantly-dressed individuals collected together in comfortable, animated, flirtatious, even impassioned conversational groups. He tried to look around them, tried to catch a glimpse of Anna on the dance floor, and when he couldn't, impatiently pushed past them. As he got closer, he realized she wasn't there. He couldn't see her, couldn't find her. She was gone. Where had she gone? Robert turned quickly, looked for Giordano. He was seated again at his table, had leaned back into his chair, was smiling smugly, gazing at the Asian woman Robert now knew was Ms. Wu. She stared back without amusement, even without expression. Giordano laughed, then turned toward Robert, and smiled. Wu, apparently completely disinterested, followed Giordano's cue and turned to look at him as well. Where the hell was Anna? How had Robert allowed himself to get distracted? How had he lost her? How could he have been so careless? Robert started to panic.

And then he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. "Robert." It was her. "We have to go." He spun around to face her, his expression white with fear. Anna started. "What's wrong?" she asked. When he didn't reply, she took a step toward him, concerned.

"Where were you?" he almost gasped. Anna took his hand.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you, Robert. As I was walking back to the table, my cell phone rang. I stepped into the back hallway to get away from the noise. We have to go. All hell is breaking loose outside. There are reports of multiple shootings across the city; we don't know the extent of it all yet. The station is sending a car. Come on—we have to leave _now_."

She led him toward the door.


	19. Chapter 19

Whew - chapters 18 and 19 were fun to write, but a bit exhausting! Thanks again to everyone who's still reading. As always, I appreciate every review! It helps to know if/that people are enjoying the story.

* * *

><p>It was Dante Falconeri who picked them up. Anna sat in the front of the squad car, Robert in the back, as the detective brought them up to speed. "The first call came in at 10:45," he told them; "a report of shots fired down by the docks. Two officers on foot patrol were the first on scene. They found a forty-five-year-old white male and a twenty-year-old white female dead, both shot through the head."<p>

_[Julian's man had moved almost all the heroin he'd rescued from the in-his-opinion-ill-conceived purge of the previous Sunday night. All he'd had to do was make one or two connections. The junkie-grapevine had done the rest; addicts from across the city had come to him for their hits. In total his haul would add up to eight or nine thousand—not bad for five nights of work. He stood waiting in the shadows for his next customer, and was delighted to recognize a sweet young thing he'd sold a couple of hits to three nights before. He'd given her a deal for a small favour. He hoped she'd be game for the same again._

_She was cautious as she approached him, eyes down. "Do you still have some stuff?" she asked hopefully. He nodded. "Same price?" she asked. He grinned._

_And then, suddenly around the corner stepped two men dressed in dark clothing._

"_Shit," the young junkie said; "the cops." But it wasn't the cops. The two men extended their arms, lifting their guns, and shot Julian's man and his customer before they could react.]_

"The next call came in almost immediately after," Dante continued. "This time the shooting had taken place in the underground parking lot of the Metro Court Hotel. A woman found Julian Jerome bleeding out on the cement; he'd been shot in the shoulder, and if he'd been discovered even just fifteen minutes later, he would have been dead."

_[Julian had just arrived back at the hotel from a meeting with a business partner. He got out of his car, set the alarm, and began to walk toward the central elevators. "Julian?" someone called out behind him; he turned, and before he had time to look at the man who'd addressed him, he felt a blow on a right shoulder that knocked him back. It was only after he'd hit the ground that he felt the wetness and the searing pain spreading from the right side of his chest to its centre, radiating down his arm and up his neck. Everything went black.]_

"The third call came in at 10:55. A black male had been shot upstairs at the Metro Court; leaving the elevator, he saw a man and a woman standing at the door of Ava Jerome's suite. The man had a gun levelled at Ms. Jerome. The black male yelled out; the other man turned, shot him, and fled with his partner. Ms. Jerome called in the shooting herself."

_[Ava was expecting Julian to stop in after his meeting and fill her in on the plans he was making to escalate their attacks on Lavery and Corinthos. When the knock came, she was careless and didn't look through the peephole; she opened the door wide, complaining to Julian that he was late._

_She was confused to see a thirty-something woman and a twenty-something man standing at the door. She didn't recognize them. "Yes?" she asked. "Can I help you?"_

_The man smiled, raised his hand. Ava saw that he held a gun, and she'd begun to back away when she heard a shout from down the hallway. _

"_Hey! Stop! What are you doing?"_

_The man whirled, fired, and ran toward the stairs; his partner followed close behind. _

_Ava rushed down the hallway, fumbling for her phone. "Are you okay? Talk to me!" she demanded of her rescuer as she knelt down. With one hand she dialed 911; with the other she tried to staunch the bleeding.]_

Anna turned to look directly at Detective Falconeri. "This sounds like mob business. Could these hits have been ordered by your father, Dante?"

Dante shook his head. "I haven't told you about the next call. At 11:05, we received a report of shots fired at my father's coffee shop. A squad car arrived five minutes later to find Sonny's associate Shawn dead on the floor. Three shots, all clean, all close range: one in his head, two in his chest."

_[Shawn was behind the counter making a cup of tea and waiting for a drop-off scheduled for midnight. He'd already unlocked the door—careless, sloppy. He'd realized that as soon as the door clicked open and he saw the two men entering. Shawn's hand moved automatically to his hip. His gun was in its holster under his blazer, but he didn't reach for it yet, just in case by some miracle the two men were on the up-and-up, were lost and wanted directions, or were in fact his contacts, just an hour early. _

"_Can I help you?" he asked them. _

"_Yes you can," answered the one man, who extended his hand as though offering it in a handshake. Shawn's attention was momentarily diverted, giving the other man just enough time to draw and shoot three times.]_

Anna thought for a moment. She asked, "What about your father? Dante, have you tried to contact him? Where is Sonny Corinthos?"

Dante was quiet. He pulled the squad car over to the side of the road. He took out his cell phone and dialled. There was no answer.

_[Sonny was alone at the warehouse waiting for Shawn to arrive after the drop-off at the coffee shop. It was the perfect night for business: Giordano and Wu were at the opening; Jerome, Sonny knew, was distracted making plans to attack the club again. Head bent over his desk, Sonny was poring over the accounts—the real accounts, not the dummy accounts managed by his business office. He had to be ready to move money around once Giordano neutralized the Jeromes. Sonny's coup de grâce would be the take-over of the networks established by Giordano and Wu across the border into Canada and into the Asian District, places Sonny hadn't yet been able to penetrate. He was excited at the prospect. Perhaps this is why he was distracted._

_There was a knock at the door. Sonny looked up. It was too early for Shawn to be arriving, and besides, he had a key and would let himself in. Sonny walked to the door. "Who is it?" he asked. _

"_A friend," came the reply. "I'm here to warn you, Mr. Corinthos. You're in danger."_

_Sonny waited for a moment, then cautiously opened the door a crack. He looked out at the man standing in front of him. _

"_Who are you?" Sonny asked. "And who am I in danger from?" _

"_To answer your first question, I'm Gino Giordano's assistant," Victor told him. "And to answer your second question-" he lifted his gun so quickly Corinthos didn't have time to react and shot him six times in the chest: a clear, unambiguous reply to Sonny's question.]_

Dante turned on his siren and pulled back out into traffic. Anna called Olivia Falconeri, who told them, as far as she knew, Sonny was at his warehouse. They arrived, guns drawn, to find the main door to the warehouse opened just enough that they could see Sonny Corinthos lying on his back in a pool of blood. Robert held Dante back as Anna slipped through the open door without disturbing the body; she leaned over, trying not to step in the blood, and checked for a pulse. There was none. Sonny Corinthos was dead.

She came back out through the door. "I'm sorry Dante, there's nothing we can do for your father now. I'm calling it in. We need forensics here." She continued, more gently. "This can't be your investigation. If you want to stay, you may, but only as an observer; you can't be involved. I'd suggest that once the team arrives, you go and speak to your mother."

Anna put her hand on Dante's arm in a gesture of comfort and then turned to walk back to the squad car to make the call.

"Anna," Robert called. "Be careful." His gun was still drawn. Anna looked back, nodded, and left.

Only a few minutes later, Robert could already hear the sound of sirens in the distance. Dante had moved off; he was speaking to his wife on the phone and looked badly shaken. The sirens grew louder, then stopped, and Anna returned with two officers. She went immediately to check on her young detective; after, she walked over to Robert, her expression troubled. She drew him aside. "First the Jeromes, then Corinthos and his man Shawn. Robert, what about Duke? Could he be a target?"

Robert considered. "I don't know, he looked pretty confident and comfortable at the club earlier. He seemed in his element. Maybe a better question is—could he be involved in these hits in some way?"

Anna pursed her lips. "I can't believe that of him. I can't believe he would plan the cold-blooded murder of anyone, even Julian Jerome."

"Perhaps he didn't plan the hits," Robert conceded. "Perhaps he's just decided which horse to back in the race, and it wasn't Corinthos. He could merely be complicit."

"Or he could be dead," Anna's face was white. "I need you to check that he's all right, Robert. I need to know."

Robert nodded, took her hand and squeezed it, leaned over to kiss her quickly on the cheek, and left.

* * *

><p>He found the door to the club still open. A few extremely inebriated patrons were slouched over the bar, one apparently unconscious, the other two laughing and leaning into each other, sharing some private joke. The bartender looked at Robert. "We're closing," he said; "last call was fifteen minutes ago."<p>

Robert shook his head. "I'm here to see Duke Lavery. Is he still around?"

The bartender took a couple of steps back, turned, walked over to the kitchen door, looked in, called out something, and came back. "Yeah, he's still here. He'll be out in a second. Have a seat."

Robert declined. He walked over to the corner of the room and paced three or four times before he saw Duke enter from the kitchen, halt, then walk the remaining distance between them. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Scorpio?" he asked. "What do you want from me?"

"You're alive," Robert smiled. "I'm so relieved. We were worried you might have been shot through the head, like every other mobster in Port Chuck tonight."

Duke waved for him to be quiet, looked around. "Not here, Scorpio, you idiot. Come to my office." He turned and led Robert into the back hallways of the club, past the kitchen, storage spaces, and dressing rooms in the back.

The very last room, right next to the back entrance, was Duke's office. It was small and windowless, but one wall was filled with a bank of screens providing views of the rest of the club: the front and back entrances, the hallway, the bar, the dance floor, the kitchen, even the front street and back alley way.

"Impressive security," Robert noted. "Seems a bit high tech for a run-of-the-mill club. You expecting some kind of invasion?"

Duke walked around behind his desk and sat down. "It's a rough neighbourhood. But then you know that as a former police commissioner."

"Why aren't you dead, Lavery?" Robert asked. "I assume you're aware of what's been going on outside your ramparts."

Duke pressed his hands together. "The cooks had the radio on in the kitchen. Apparently there have been a number of murders in the city tonight."

Robert frowned. "Five to be exact, two attempted, three successful. Sonny Corinthos is dead, as is his henchman Shawn, as is one of Jerome's thugs. Attempts were made on the lives of Julian and Ava. Julian is critical; Ava escaped without a scratch."

Duke looked down. "I have to admit I'm a bit disappointed that the Jeromes survived the purge. I'm not sorry Sonny's dead. He manipulated and betrayed me."

"Now that Corinthos is gone, who are you working for Lavery?" Robert asked; "Gino Giordano? Are you his lackey? Did you set this all in motion?"

Duke was disdainful. "I work only for myself. I might collaborate at times, but I'm nobody's lackey."

Robert shook his head. "That's what you think. Giordano's a dangerous guy. Don't get me wrong, Corinthos was bad enough—his hold on this town caused Mac and Anna terrible grief, but Giordano, he's a whole other story. You've invited in the devil. And now it's Anna's job to exorcise him, you bastard."

"If it weren't for Sonny Corinthos' interference," Duke almost spat the words, "Anna and I would still be together, and I would be in a position to protect her. He deserved to die." Duke stood. "The only reason Anna's with you now, Scorpio, is that Sonny used me. She'd still be with me if she hadn't found out about my business with Sonny."

"She was only with you in the first place because I was in a coma," Robert barely restrained his desire to shout, "and because of her overdeveloped sense of pity and loyalty. I'm the one she loves. She always has."

Duke smiled. "She would still be with me, but for Julian Jerome, but for Sonny Corinthos. You had her only because I had to die all those years ago to protect her from the Jeromes and because Corinthos sabotaged us when we finally found each other again."

Robert narrowed his eyes. "Believe what you want, Lavery. But know that I'll always be grateful to have her, whatever the reason, whatever the circumstance." Robert felt the shame of this statement—although he hadn't always felt that gratitude in the past, in the future, he decided, he always would. "And when I take her in my arms tonight, I'll report to her that you're just fine, that she shouldn't waste any more time worrying about your safety. You can take care of yourself."

* * *

><p>After Robert left the club, he tracked Anna down at one of the crime scenes. He shadowed her as she coordinated the police response and visited each of the scenes in turn. The PCPD was stretched to its limits; every detective and forensic investigator available had been called from his or her bed to process the multiple scenes. Robert, Anna's self-appointed body guard, had accompanied her everywhere, constantly scanning the surroundings, on the lookout for any and all potential threats.<p>

It was four o'clock in the morning by the time they returned home. Even when they entered the apartment, Robert pulled Anna back, went in first himself, then waved for her to follow and shut the door. He left her in the entrance and moved through each room, gun in hand. When he felt the space was secure, he came back to the living room, put his gun on a side table, and sat down heavily on the sofa.

Anna took off her coat and came to sit beside him. She put her hand on his arm. "On New Year's Eve, you suggested the brewing mob war was nothing more than an exciting professional challenge. How do you feel about it now? Port Charles is in chaos. What am I going to do, Robert?"

Robert put a hand over Anna's. "I don't know—leave?" he suggested tiredly. "Get out while you can? Come away with me somewhere safe? Somewhere no one can find us?"

Anna smiled. "It's very like you to try to protect me from danger," she observed. "But it's not at all like you to run away from your own responsibilities."

Robert thought back to what Elizabeth had said to him the night before and his gut gave a churn. "I'm currently only on a short-term contract with Port Chuck. Besides, I think both of us have put in more than our fair share of time and effort trying to keep this lawless burg from devolving to chaos."

Anna slumped and leaned over, resting her head against his shoulder. "Being commissioner of Port Charles has never been easy," she admitted.

Robert inclined his head so that his cheek pressed against Anna's hairline. "I don't like the danger you're in. Could you be the next target?"

Anna straightened, shifted to face Robert more directly; Robert did the same and turned in toward her. "I don't think I'm a target, Robert," she told him. "I had a fascinating and disturbing conversation with Giordano while we danced. He's behind the hits, obviously. He and Wu were at the club to establish an alibi; he asked me to dance and drew my attention to the time in a kind of sick joke—he was taunting me. But when we talked, he told me I was mere background, part of the context and environment in which he operates. He gets off on working the system, not destroying the system. I don't think he wants to harm me or to resort to blackmail or to threats against my family and the people I love. To him, that would be too easy."

Robert looked skeptical. "You believe him?"

Anna pressed her eyes closed and sighed. "I don't know. The Montreal police told me Giordano doesn't observe any code of honour, not even that among thieves, so he might have been lying. But he was so convincing. My gut tells me he was telling the truth. "

She opened her eyes and smiled wearily. Then she grew serious. "Robert," she began, "when we were at the club and I came to collect you, you seemed extremely upset. Was something wrong?"

Robert took her hands. "I was just worried when I couldn't find you. That's all." He smiled, tried to make light of the incident. "You'd maybe primed my paranoia with your weird premonition of peril before we even entered the club." He smiled, lifted her hands to his mouth, and kissed them.

Anna wasn't convinced or reassured. "When I was walking back from the dance floor before I got the call from the station, I saw Elizabeth Beaty sitting at our table. Did she say something that upset you? Now that I think about it, you haven't discussed the Thompson case with me recently. When last we spoke about it, you were going to contact the WSB for help identifying that man Hallam. Did you find out anything?"

Robert stroked her hands with his, squeezed them. "No, Luv, nothing. I'm afraid Hallam is a dead end. I'm sorry. Maybe Alan Schaber and Carolyn are living happily-ever-after in Europe and raising their daughter."

"Or son," Anna said, knowing it wasn't true, wanting to cry, not only for Carolyn but also for herself. There hadn't been a happily-ever-after for her and Robert either, not either time she was pregnant, because of Anna's secrecy, her duplicities, her betrayals, her desire for revenge.

"I will grant you that I was a bit frantic when I couldn't find you," Robert shifted their conversation back and away from the case. "When I looked out at the dance floor and I couldn't see you, I thought for a moment maybe you'd been snatched away while I was distracted. And I realized something very clearly in that moment." He pulled her toward him, rested his forehead against hers. "I can't lose you for a third time, Anna. I can't. It would kill me. I can't get you back only to have you taken away again."

Anna pulled back, put her hands around Robert's face, forcing him to look into her eyes. She smiled reassurance. "You're not going to lose me, Robert. Ever. I promise you that. No one's going to take me away, and nothing would make me leave you." She leaned in to kiss him and was surprised by the desperation and need in his response.

They made love. After, when Anna tried to coax Robert to bed, he told her he'd be in shortly. But he wasn't. He sat on the couch, gun in hand, imagining threats from all directions.


	20. Chapter 20

Anna slept for a few hours and then forced herself to get up, careful not to wake Robert. She showered, dressed, and moved as silently as she could to the kitchen, where, to her great surprise, she found him pouring two cups of coffee and buttering toast.

"What are you doing, Robert?" she asked. "Go back to sleep."

"I'm going in with you," he answered, stirring cream and sugar into his cup. He lifted it to his mouth, took a sip. "But you need to eat something before we go. Take that coffee, and have this toast. I'll make more for myself."

Anna accepted the coffee, waved away the toast. It was too early, and she felt slightly nauseous from lack of sleep. "You don't need to come in with me. Today will be anarchy and confusion. I'm not sure what exactly I'd ask you to help me with."

Robert looked at her the way he often did, in that "serious" way, his head inclined slightly downward, his gaze up toward and levelled at her. "That doesn't matter. I'm coming with you."

Anna understood what he meant. He was coming to protect her. She sighed. "I'll just be co-ordinating the investigations and getting updates. I won't be doing anything dangerous. I'll be stuck in the office all day. What are you going to do, perch yourself in the corner, frisk everyone who enters? I'll be fine. Get some more sleep and come in later. Let me give you an update once I know something more."

Robert stared at her for a moment, said nothing, then took a large bite from his toast. He chewed mechanically, looked at her defiantly.

Anna knew she wasn't going to win this battle. She turned away, took her coffee into the living room, and made her first call of the day.

* * *

><p>They arrived at the station forty minutes later. As predicted, the PCPD was in a state of barely controlled pandemonium. For the first three hours she was in the office, Anna was brought up to speed on the forensic evidence gathered overnight at the crime scenes and the current medical status of the shooting victims who'd managed to survive. Ava Jerome's good Samaritan hadn't been seriously injured, was recovering well, and had provided a description of his and Ava's assailants. Unfortunately it was non-specific to the point of being completely unhelpful. The shooter was Caucasian, clean cut, of average height (maybe five feet, nine inches), with brown hair; the woman was slightly shorter, Caucasian, a brunette, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, with no distinguishing features. Both Ava and her rescuer doubted they could positively identify either. The man who was shot was at too much of a distance to see them clearly, and Ava told investigating officers she'd been in such shock once she realized the man held a gun that details of their appearance simply hadn't registered. Security video of the hallway added nothing to their vague descriptions. It was almost as though the shooters had been selected for their generic looks.<p>

As for Julian Jerome, he was still unconscious. He'd lost a lot of blood, but the bullet had miraculously avoided his heart, major blood vessels, and lungs, so his prognosis was good. Two guards were posted at his hospital door, and all staff authorized to treat him had been assigned photo-identification badges. Ava had arrived at the hospital early in the morning and had been at his bedside throughout the night. The PCPD had to hope that he could provide a better description than his sister of the person or persons who'd tried to kill him. Anna had been shown security footage from the parking garage, which clearly showed Julian being shot; unfortunately the place from which the gun was fired was in shadow.

In short, there was almost no evidence to work from—vague witness descriptions, little crime-scene evidence. The bullets had been retrieved and their ballistic fingerprints would be examined, but odds were that investigators would find nothing similar in police databases. And the shooters would by now almost certainly have disposed of their weapons.

Anna sat at her desk as investigator after investigator entered the office, delivered his or her depressing news, and left. Robert sat off to the side, listening but not contributing, trying to stay out of the way, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He understood that he was in danger of cramping Anna's style, of making her feel scrutinized and judged. He didn't want her kicking him out. He wanted to be close by.

But when Scotty Baldwin arrived to confront Anna, Robert knew she wouldn't let him stay to witness the carnage and, more importantly, wouldn't risk Robert's holy rage against the D.A. Baldwin threw open the office door unannounced, without knocking, and in the middle of a briefing practically screamed, "What the hell is going on, Devane? Tell me you have suspects. What is the state of this investigation? I want answers now!"

Anna calmly waved the reporting officer in the direction of the door. She looked at Robert in the way she often did, in that "serious" way, her eyebrows arched, her eyes glittering. She shot the door a look without moving her head and then looked back at him. Robert understood, got up, and left. He decided to occupy his time doing something useful. He wondered if the requisitions and stores department was still in the basement and headed off to find out.

"Mr. D.A.," Anna began; "how can I help you?"

Scotty sneered. "Honestly, Commissioner, I doubt that you can. Five shootings in the space of an hour. I'd say it all happened on your watch, but actually it happened while you were drinking and dancing at a club with your geriatric ex-husband."

"I wouldn't say that to his face," Anna muttered under her breath. Then louder, "I had worked a ten-hour shift earlier that day, Mr. Baldwin. And I worked through most of the very early morning after my—I don't know, shall we call it 'brief debauchery' of the evening before? If you're changing the terms of my employment, requiring twenty-four-hour shifts seven days a week, I may reconsider my contract with the city."

"I wouldn't care if you worked two hours a day if you actually got something done," Baldwin growled. "So tell me, what have you found out? And you'd better make this good, 'cause I'm inclined to be critical."

Anna took a deep breath and proceeded to tell Scotty Baldwin every discouraging bit of information she'd just been told by her officers.

* * *

><p>When Robert arrived back at Anna's office, bearing what he knew would be an unwelcomed gift, he asked her assistant Rubin if it was safe to enter. Rubin looked at Robert blankly. "She's not there. She stepped out about ten minutes ago."<p>

Robert wasn't happy. "Stepped out? Stepped out where?"

Rubin shrugged. "I don't know. She said she needed some fresh air, so I assume she left the building. I think she may have been upset after her meeting with D.A. Baldwin. He and the Commissioner don't get along very well."

Robert threw what he was carrying on Rubin's desk and went to get his coat.

* * *

><p>Anna opened the door to Kelly's. The walk over hadn't completely settled her nerves; she was bristling with frustration and anger after her conversation with Scott Baldwin. In the middle of their confrontation, she'd indulged in a brief fantasy: in it, she extended her arms and grabbed him around the throat, squeezing in just the right way (taught to her by Shaun Donnely when she'd first joined the WSB) to kill him quickly, efficiently, and silently. After he'd left, she decided to go for a walk, partly to get away, partly to work off her murderous energy.<p>

What she needed was another coffee—a big coffee, and maybe a doughnut. Or maybe chocolate cake. Sugar would help keep her sane. She ordered, then turned and leaned against the counter. She looked around the restaurant and noticed Elizabeth Beaty seated not far away. Anna thought back to the evening before, to seeing Elizabeth at the table as she was walking back, to seeing Robert's expression and wondering about it before her phone rang and everything went to hell in a handcart. She contemplated again what might have passed between them.

Anna made a quick decision. She walked up to Elizabeth's table and smiled. "Ms. Beaty," she said. "I'm Police Commissioner Anna Devane." She extended her hand. "I thought it was about time I introduced myself, since I assigned Carolyn Thompson's cold case to the PCPD's special consultant Agent Scorpio. I understand you've been speaking to him about the disappearance of your friend."

Elizabeth smiled back, stood, and shook Anna's hand. As she did so, Anna noticed with annoyance that Elizabeth's hairstyle was identical to her own and, most irritating, more flattering on the other woman. Anna resolved to grow her hair long again.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Devane," Elizabeth replied. "Would you like to have a seat?"

"Thank you," Anna accepted; "just for a few minutes. I have to get back to the office."

The two women faced each other. Elizabeth picked up her coffee and held it in her hands. "Yes, I have been helping Robert with his investigation." Anna noted the familiarity Elizabeth implied in the use of the name. "I know Stephen is grateful that the PCPD is looking again at Carolyn's case. Her disappearance was such a shock to everyone."

Anna forced another smile. "I noticed that you were at the opening of the new club down by the waterfront last night. Did you attend with your friend Stephen?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, I was there alone. I don't allow the lack of an escort to curtail my social activities. The opening sounded fun, so . . . ." She shrugged her shoulders. "You and Robert seemed to enjoy yourselves. He's obviously a wonderful dancer."

"And conversationalist?" Anna asked. "I noticed the two of you talking. Were you discussing the case?"

Elizabeth looked down, laughed, bit her lip. Anna felt a chill run through her body. "No," Elizabeth told her; "we weren't discussing the case. I was telling him about my past, my studies at university. It was all just idle chit-chat. Nothing too serious or important."

Anna looked at the bag hanging over Elizabeth's chair. It was a messenger bag, a slight variation on the one slung diagonally over Anna's own shoulder. It was lovely but didn't seem Elizabeth's style.

"Commissioner Devane?" It was the woman at the counter. "Your order is ready."

Anna stood, smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid I have to leave, Ms. Beaty. But it was a pleasure finally to meet you. I hope we're able to determine what happened to Miss Thompson, and both Agent Scorpio and I appreciate your co-operation." Anna backed away from the table, picked up her take-away, and headed for the door. When she was outside, she paused for a moment, breathing in the brisk, clean air, steadying nerves not yet recovered from her confrontation with Scott Baldwin and freshly jangled by her encounter with Elizabeth.

Anna had only briefly observed the woman during her first meeting with Robert weeks before, but she was certain this Elizabeth wasn't exactly the same woman who had arrived in Port Charles. She was different somehow. And disturbingly similar.

As she was walking back to the station, trying to work it all out, Anna, head down, almost literally ran into Robert, interrupting her train of thought. He looked unhappy, and Anna guessed why. She decided to ignore his obvious irritation and keep the tone of conversation light. "Robert. Hi. I picked up a coffee for you. It's in this bag." She grinned at him. "Cream and sugar. Just like you like. For you. In here."

Robert stared at her for a moment, took her arm, and began walking her back to the office.

They passed the distance in almost complete silence. Anna repeatedly tried to initiate light banter, but Robert wouldn't bite, kept silent. It was only once they were back in the office, door shut behind them, that he spoke.

"What the hell were you doing, going out without telling anyone where you were? Given what's just happened in this town, you shouldn't be traipsing off on your own without an escort _ever_. What were you thinking?"

Anna became immediately incensed. "It's broad daylight, Robert, and I walked five blocks to the waterfront to clear my head. At no point was I in any danger, nor was I doing anything that could possibly be construed as reckless. You're out of line here."

"We don't know for certain that you aren't in danger, that you aren't a target."

Anna narrowed her eyes. "Everyone shot last night was involved in the mob. I, in contrast, am neither a mobster nor a moll. I don't think I'm a target."

Robert spun on his heel, walked out of the office, and returned with the item he'd collected from stores. "If you insist on going walk-about without a bodyguard, at least put this on."

Anna looked at what he was holding. It was a bullet-proof vest. "I see absolutely no reason to wear that on a simple stroll to the coffee shop."

"Under your coat, Anna. No one will know you have it on."

Anna sucked her teeth, frustrated. "At least three of our victims were shot in the head. Next you'll be wanting me to wear a Kevlar toque everywhere."

"You mean a Kevlar knit cap. And don't tempt me."

"Whatever. Robert, the fact that you're old enough to be my father does not give you the right to treat me like a child."

"First of all, I am _not_ old enough to be your father, dear—I'm only eleven years older than you—"

"Thirteen. I've see your passport."

"—and I was not that precocious. Second, I am not treating you like a child, though you _are_ acting like one."

Anna began to pace in irritation. "You've treated me like a child from the moment we first met."

"You were practically a child back then, playing dress-up, playing grown-up games you didn't understand."

Anna balled her hands into fists, exasperated. "Not Paris again! Never Paris, Robert—never Paris again!"

"You haven't always listened to me or taken my advice, but you could do now. You could trust me. As someone older and wiser, although emphatically _not_ old enough to be your father."

Anna stared hard at him. "Do I have a choice?"

Robert stared back. "I have two simple requests. Number one: don't go out on your own. Number two: if you must, wear the damned vest."

"There's no reason."

"To humour me?"

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," Anna called. It was Rubin. "Your twelve o'clock is here. Can I send him in?"

Robert gave her one final glare, stood down, and turned to leave. But then he paused, walked back to Anna's desk, opened the bag from Kelly's, retrieved his coffee, and walked out of Anna's office without giving her another glance.

* * *

><p>Still upset, Robert stayed out of Anna's way for the rest if the afternoon. Despite his anger, however, he was concerned enough that, from his desk, he kept a careful eye on who entered and exited her office. As he kept watch, he contemplated what to do with the knowledge that Elizabeth was responsible for her husband's death—or rather, that someone, likely her father, had arranged for the WSB to kill him. Robert phoned Emma to check that she was okay. She told him that she was fine but wouldn't be doing him any more favours. Robert was on his own.<p>

It was all probably for the best. It was good to be reminded that, although a few select individuals within the Bureau could be trusted, the WSB as a whole couldn't. After all, they'd handed over his file to a third party. And the _real_ file, as Elizabeth had stressed, not his official dossier. Robert wondered how he might get hold of a copy and whether it contained any information he himself didn't know.

Would Elizabeth have a copy of the file in her suite, Robert wondered. He wasn't naive enough to think she would have only the one copy—she was blackmailing him with it, after all, and was surely smart enough to have two or three duplicates hidden in secure locations. He would like to know exactly what the file contained, whether it was the truth or another of the Bureau's many lies. He didn't want to fight a lie without knowing what it was. But he'd rather Anna never even learned the truth, though he imagined she might forgive him. She was more generous than he.

He could break into Elizabeth's suite. But there was no guarantee the file was there. It was probably in a safety deposit box somewhere in town. He had no choice but to ask Elizabeth to see it. He could tell her he wanted to confirm her claims, her threats. Then he'd have to choose: to keep quiet, or to confess everything to Anna and hope she understood.

Staring at the door to Anna's office, Robert asked himself what exactly he stood to gain by confessing. The PCPD would never be able to arrest Elizabeth; they had no hard evidence to take to court. She would never be held accountable for her crime even if Robert refused to give in to her blackmail. Next Robert asked himself what he stood to lose. Everything, he realized. Right now, Anna was everything to him.

Still, he'd ask to see the file.

To make contact with Elizabeth, Robert left the station, walked down to the waterfront, made his call there. He returned to the station a couple of hours later to find Anna still in her office and still in meetings. Rubin informed Robert that the coroner, her last appointment of the day, was coming to report at 7:00. Then Rubin handed him a folded note. "She asked me to give this to you," he told Robert. "I don't know why she didn't just send you a text."

Robert went to his desk, sat down, opened the note. It was folded four times vertically, not three, code for "writer in no immediate danger." The margins were unusually wide, code for "no immediate threat foreseen to the reader." The text—well, the text was almost meaningless. She would be busy until after 7:00, would meet Robert at the apartment, would appreciate him picking up dinner and a bottle of wine on the way home. At the bottom, her signature. Signatures were important in WSB code. A radically altered signature signified a trick, a ruse, a trap: the reader should beware. Robert and Anna had developed their own private signature code when they were agents. They'd agreed to use subtle embellishments when they wrote to each other, encoding the simple message "I love you." Anna's embellishment was a slight curl in the line from the final "a" of her first name. Robert saw it now in her signature on the note. He folded up the paper again, shoved it in the pocket of his coat, and headed home.

* * *

><p>It was 8:30 when Anna finally opened the door to the apartment, threw her keys onto the side table, shut the door behind her, and leaned up against it in exhaustion. She closed her eyes for a moment, grateful to be home again. She removed her bag, put it in the hall closet.<p>

"You look tired." Robert had appeared. "Let me help you." He came up to her, began unbuttoning her coat. Underneath he found the bullet-proof vest.

Anna smiled, shrugged. "I'm humouring you. Don't get used to it."

He helped her off with the vest as well. They walked into the living room, Robert bracing her, Anna leaning heavily against him. "God, what a day," she groaned. "Meeting after meeting, report after report, and nothing, absolutely nothing. No meaningful forensic evidence. Ballistic fingerprinting is a bust so far and probably won't lead to anything. Witness descriptions are vague to the point of useless, and security footage is blurry and dark."

Robert sat her down. He went to the kitchen; Anna continued, more loudly. "Scotty Baldwin came to see me a second time, called me three more times to complain. Of course he offers no advice, just criticism. There was a crowd of reporters outside the station all day wanting some kind of statement. Thank god the PCPD has a media relations person. Still, I'm going to have to hold a press conference tomorrow. One of my least favourite parts of the job."

Robert came back with a newspaper-wrapped take-away, a bottle of white wine, and a glass. He put everything in front of her and smiled.

"Fish and chips?" she asked hopefully. Robert nodded. Anna moaned with pleasure. "Bless you. Just what I need. Have you already eaten yours?"

"Already?" Robert asked; "It's 8:30. Of course I ate. But not that junk. I don't have your British constitution."

"Damned right," she agreed as she tore into the paper.

Robert observed her. "'Tis a man in love," he told her, "who can watch his woman eat and say to her, 'You are beautiful.'"

"Are you telling me I'm beautiful?" Anna asked him, her mouth full. Robert nodded. Anna smiled and carried on eating.

"I'm sorry," he continued, "if I was a bit overbearing earlier today. We both know it's one of my least attractive tendencies. I know you can take care of yourself. I didn't mean to suggest otherwise. I know I don't _need_ to protect you. I just want to. "

"I know, Robert," Anna sighed. "I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. I do understand. It's all right."

She ate in silence for a few minutes. Then she suddenly remembered. "Oh god, I didn't tell you what happened when I was at Kelly's on my 'walk-about,' as you called it. I saw Elizabeth Beaty. And I couldn't help myself, Robert—I went up to her and introduced myself."

A muscle in Robert's shoulder clenched. "What happened?"

Anna chewed thoughtfully, finished her mouth, and looked hard at him. "It was really strange. When you told me she'd had her hair cut, you neglected to clarify that her new style is exactly like mine. Though maybe you didn't notice. You never were especially observant of the subtle details of coiffure and dress, just of the blatantly obvious: outrageously curled hair, plunging necklines, perilously high slits, black lingerie, garter belts . . ."

Robert stopped her. "Exactly like yours?"

Anna nodded her head vigorously. "Yes, exactly like mine. Though her hair is ridiculously thick, luxuriant, and blonde. I felt rather shown-up."

Robert, distracted, muttered, "I think your hair is beautiful. I've always thought so."

Anna smiled, bit a chip. "Yes, Robert, I'm aware of that fact. And I'm not ashamed to admit I've often exploited it, used it to my advantage." She thought for a moment. "And another thing: she had a messenger bag almost exactly like mine. Does that strike you as her style? As I recall, when I first saw her, she was dressed rather differently. I don't know. Something seemed distinctly peculiar. Even her mannerisms. I watched her quite closely the first time you and she spoke. It's odd, but she seemed different somehow. Anyway, she made me feel very uncomfortable. I'm glad it's you, not me, dealing with her."

Robert was glad of that as well.


	21. Chapter 21

It had almost become a part of the routine of their nights together now. At some time between two and four o'clock, Anna would wake up in a state anywhere from mild agitation to full-blown panic. She would sit up still mostly asleep or, heart pounding, wide awake and ready to fight or flee. Robert would wake up with her, would sit up, would hold her gently to ease her back onto the bed or would grab her in a strong embrace, keeping her from struggling, from running to or away from whatever it was she was dreaming. Anna, often not even conscious, would give over as he pulled her into him, laid her down, and wrapped his body behind and around hers. Either that or she would fight him, a perilous situation for both: even imperfectly directed and landed, her blows were painful and capable of inflicting considerable damage. Robert never knew what the night would bring.

Tonight she was calm, her expression vacant, almost hopeless, Robert thought, though he didn't know why he read it that way. She didn't wake up as he pulled her back down with him. "What are you dreaming, Luv?" he whispered. "When will you tell me?"

* * *

><p>He got up with Anna again the next morning. They were awake at 6:00 and out the door by 7:00. He escorted her to the station, watched her enter her office, ensconced himself at Dante Falconeri's desk, and then sat and wondered what to do for the rest of the day. Elizabeth had insisted they meet in the evening; he had more than twelve hours to kill, rattled nerves, and no clear plan. He decided all he could do was try to keep Anna safe.<p>

So when she emerged from the office two hours later and announced "Julian Jerome's finally awake," he was bound and determined to go with her. She didn't fight him, and he noticed with no small sense of satisfaction that she was wearing the bullet-proof vest under her coat.

When they arrived at the hospital, Ava had already been ejected from Julian's room on Anna's orders. They had never been left alone; Anna hadn't wanted them conspiring to present the police with a fiction or to keep evidence back. She worried that they might, in a nefarious and misguided plot, given the obvious danger Giordano presented, decide to take revenge on their own and leave the PCPD out of the loop. Anna wanted their information or, barring that, wanted to hear obvious inconsistencies. It would help her to understand exactly what she was up against.

She and Robert entered with a uniformed officer. Julian, hooked up to various monitors and devices, looked surprisingly weak and helpless for a man of his usual bulk and bravado. His eyes were shut but the nurse assured them he wasn't asleep.

"Julian Jerome," Anna said, announcing their presence; "we'd like to ask you a few questions about your shooting. Do you feel up to speaking with us? We'd like to take your statement."

Julian opened his eyes a crack. "I've certainly felt better. And I'd like to see my sister. The guard hustled her out of here as soon as I woke up. Why am I being isolated when I'm the victim of a crime, not the perpetrator?"

Anna approached the left side of Julian's bed and stared down at him. "You're being guarded for your own protection," she told him. "Someone tried to kill you; it only makes sense that they may try to finish the job. Especially if you saw your assailant. Did you get a look at the person who shot you, Mr. Jerome?"

Julian pressed his eyes shut again. "No. But I assume it was someone working for Sonny Corinthos. Have you questioned him yet? What does he have to say?"

Anna grimaced. "He has nothing to say. Mr. Corinthos was shot very shortly after you were and wasn't quite so lucky. His funeral is tomorrow. We're operating on the assumption that both crimes are the work of the same person or persons, as are the deaths of your employee—I believe his name was Mr. Thomas Park—and of Mr. Corinthos' henchman Shawn Butler."

Anna noted that Julian looked genuinely shocked and momentarily puzzled. But almost immediately he recovered his composure. "Looks like you'll have your work cut out for you," he observed. "The crime was apparently not committed by the usual suspect."

Anna shifted, looked down and away, and then back to Julian. "Can you tell me what happened immediately before you were shot?"

Julian was impassive. "I pulled into my parking stall after a late business meeting. I opened the driver's door, got my briefcase from the back seat, stepped out, set the car alarm. I began to walk toward the central elevator when someone called out my name."

"Was it a man or a woman?" Anna asked.

"A man. I didn't recognize the voice. He called me Julian, not Mr. Jerome. I stopped, turned around, and before I could see who it was, I felt the first bullet hit me in the shoulder. Everything after that is a bit of a blur. I remember lying on the ground for what seemed like hours; I vaguely remember a woman's voice saying something to me—I have no idea what. And then I remember nothing. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in here, Ava's calling for help, and I'm surrounded by a crowd of doctors and nurses. And then you showed up."

Anna crossed her arms. "Mr. Jerome, I cannot stress enough the danger you are in—and your sister is in; do you know an attempt was made on her life as well?" Jerome didn't react to this bit of information; he was either a skilled actor or felt very little affection for the hysterical woman pacing the hallway outside his hospital room. Anna wasn't sure which was true.

"We have guards assigned to both of you. You must not, under any circumstance, attempt to evade those guards, arrange for them to be distracted, try to get around them, or in any other way compromise your own protection. Do I make myself clear?"

Julian nodded.

Anna frowned. "If you remember anything else, it is in your best interest to contact the PCPD and entrust that information to us. Don't take matters into your own hands, whatever you do. I'll be in touch again soon." Anna strode out of the room, followed by Robert and the officer.

Julian was alone for a few moments before Ava rushed back to his bedside. And in those few moments, he wondered what the hell was happening and broke out in a cold sweat. If not Sonny, who the hell had tried to kill him, and why?

* * *

><p>Giordano was up uncharacteristically early, wolfing down a huge breakfast of eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast. As he ate, he watched the local news, and smiled at the announcement that the Police Commissioner would be holding a news conference at 3:00.<p>

"I'll be sure to tune in," he said out loud, to no one in particular, before he shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth. He chewed with his mouth open, something he would never do in public, or even in the presence of one other person. He felt free, untouchable. Life was good.

* * *

><p>When they got back to the station, Anna disappeared behind her door again. Robert sat twirling his pen, his eyes glazed over, his mind not blank but working just under the threshold of cold, hard consciousness, ready to snap to attention again with the slightest significant visual stimulus—such as Anna's door opening, which it did, forty minutes later. He grabbed his pen in mid spin and straightened his spine.<p>

Anna looked at him, smiled, gestured for him to come. He did.

Once the door closed behind them, she took his hand, leaned in to him, kissed him on the cheek, and led him back to the desk. They stood side by side and leaned up against it. Her hands in his, he played with her fingers as she spoke.

"I have fifteen minutes before I meet with our public relations people and legal counsel to prepare for the news conference," she sighed. "They'll hand me my speech and the lawyers will warn me what not to say during the 'q and a' session. I don't know why they want me there at all. None of it is me, none of it is from me, I'm not allowed to contribute anything anymore. I'm nothing more than a ventriloquist's dummy. I hate it."

Robert smiled. "I used to like making statements. Saw them as an opportunity to have a good scrap with the press. I found that pretty satisfying."

Anna laughed. "Revisionist history—you never liked press conferences, always complained about them. But now they're even worse. It's not like the good old days, Robert. Back then it mattered who the Police Commissioner was. We were important; we were relevant; we made a difference. Now I feel like I'm nothing. The police are ineffectual. At best we make empty threats, get minimal airtime, while the bad guys win, while they operate unmolested. And the legal department gives me a script to follow. No improvisation allowed. It's a world for the very young. I'm having trouble adjusting. To be honest, I don't want to adjust, really. I thought I was young and hip, but in many ways I'm an old fuddy-duddy, just like you."

Robert leaned over, bumped her shoulder, smiled. "I'll be out in the crowd. And I'm your biggest fan. Just one request: promise me you'll wear the vest."

Anna shook her head and laughed again. "The conference is being held in a secure room in the station. Everyone has to pass through metal detectors to get in. If I'm not safe in the station, where am I safe?"

She'd meant the question to be rhetorical, but Robert's breath caught as an answer came, unwanted, immediately to mind: nowhere, she was safe nowhere; they had never been safe anywhere, and they still weren't safe. He leaned in to kiss her. It was a long, slow kiss, and Anna felt herself completely disoriented. She forgot where she was, when she was, and what was about to happen.

When they broke apart, she smiled. "Thank you, Robert" she told him.

* * *

><p>Two hours later they were back in her office.<p>

"Fuck!" It was the first in a string of expletives Anna let fly as she paced the room, her body vibrating with frustration and fury. She didn't swear often; when she did, Robert knew better than to interrupt her. She needed to get it all out. "God dammit, Robert!" More obscenities followed, more elaborate physical movements. Even enraged she was graceful as her aggravation found expression in the motions of her arms, her legs, her head.

Robert watched her calmly, waiting for her energy to exhaust itself. His anger manifested differently: he became disconcertingly composed, quiet, still. When she was finally completely spent and had gone silent, he spoke. "They're paid to get under your skin, remember that," he told her. "You kept it together. There was nothing more you could do. They had their knives out."

Anna gestured grabbing an invisible opponent around the neck and throttling him. "I wanted nothing more than to grab that one son of a bitch and squeeze the life out of him. You know who I mean."

Robert did.

"It's been less than two days and they're already suggesting I'm incompetent, that I could somehow have prevented the shootings, that I've been soft on crime. Scot Baldwin's public statements haven't helped at all—he'd throw his mother under a bus to save his own skin, the bastard. He demands air-tight evidence, too lazy and too much of a coward to take cases to court that he'd actually have to work to argue. No wonder criminals walk free in this town."

Robert worried that Anna was getting worked up again.

"All I can say is they'd better not call too loudly for my resignation. I might just give it to them. Then where would they be? In a whole lot of—hoo ha, that's where they'd be."

She was abandoning the obscenities. It was a good sign her anger was dissipating. Robert's, however, continued to boil under the surface. He forced a smile.

"I think it's time the two of us got out of here," he told her. "You, me, the back door, and then a few martinis. I'll phone ahead to the Port Charles Hotel lounge and see if their private room is free. You deserve to get drunk, Commissioner Devane."

* * *

><p>Four or five martinis later—Robert had lost count—Anna <em>was<em> drunk and decidedly feeling less pain. Now what she needed was food, a safe and warm place to sleep, and love, none of which Robert could give her, not this evening, not tonight. He had to meet Elizabeth, and he suspected he'd need time on his own after they spoke. So Robert called Robin, asked her to collect her mother, take her back home and care for her. He'd pick Anna up in the morning. A plainclothes policeman would be posted outside their door just to make sure there was no trouble. Robert had gone behind Anna's back to make the arrangement, had made a few phone calls to well-placed individuals and put bugs in their ears. He hoped Anna would never find out. He was at least fairly confident that she wouldn't notice before morning, since she was more than a few sheets to the wind.

Robin arrived as requested and saw her mother head down on the table. She arched her eyebrows. "How much did Mom have to drink? And how am I supposed to get an unconscious woman into my car?"

Robert smiled. "She's not unconscious, just relaxed. Don't worry, she can move on her own steam; you won't have to carry her. Just bring her home, give her some dinner, some tea, make sure she's okay, and put her to bed. She's exhausted. Let her sleep late tomorrow. Phone me when she wakes up and I'll come and collect her."

Robin eyed him suspiciously. "Why aren't you drunk? The two of you always got blasted together. I don't remember you ever taking turns as designated drivers. What's up? You didn't get her drunk on purpose, did you Dad?"

Robert scoffed. "Of course not. It's just that I have an appointment. That's why I couldn't drink as much and why I can't take your mother home. Don't be so mistrustful."

Robin didn't look convinced. She put her hand on Anna's shoulder and gently shook her awake.

* * *

><p>It was a good thing Robin and Patrick's house had an attached garage—Robin was able to get her mother inside without prying eyes seeing the intoxicated, strangely syncopated sway in her mother's step. Once in the living room, Anna flopped on the couch, her hair dishevelled, her smile crooked. Robin had seen the news conference. She'd seen her mother attacked. Whatever her father's alternative reason might have been for getting her mother drunk, he'd done exactly the right thing. Robin saw no evidence of stress and strain in her mother's body or expression at the moment. For a few hours, at least, she could relax.<p>

"Where's Emma?" Anna asked, smiling.

"She's upstairs, Mom. Patrick's putting her to bed. It's probably better that she doesn't see you right now. I don't really want to have to explain why Grandma is acting funny."

Anna's expression was a mixture of mock shame and honest delight. "I know," she sniggered; "I'm a bit tipsy. I tried very hard when you were young not to let you see me like this. I completely understand."

Robin wanted to ask her mother how she was feeling, whether she was in any danger, whether she was still having the nightmares her father had told Robin about, but she thought it best to keep things light. "Do you want some tea, Mom?" she asked.

Anna nodded. "That would be lovely. Thank you."

"Maybe we can watch a movie. If you want, while I'm making the tea, you can change and make yourself more comfortable. Your nightclothes and robe are still in the guest bedroom closet. You can use my make-up remover and cream—I bought that stuff you recommended. I decided it's time to start worrying about wrinkles."

Anna looked at Robin, puzzled. "I'm staying here tonight?"

Robin laughed. "Yeah, Mom, Dad asked me to bring you home and take care of you. You had a rough day."

The relaxed joy flattened out of Anna's voice. "Where's your father? Why did he ask you to bring me here?"

Robin shrugged. "He said he had an appointment. I have no idea with whom or where. He told me he'd pick you up tomorrow morning. That's all I know. Sorry."

Anna frowned.

* * *

><p>Robert was waiting at the bar of the PC Hotel lounge, nursing a club soda though he desperately wanted something stronger. He felt a hand on his shoulder.<p>

"Robert." It was Elizabeth's voice.

He didn't turn around. "Don't touch me," he ordered quietly. "The back room is free. Let's take our conversation somewhere more private."

"Aren't you even going to offer me a drink?" Elizabeth asked.

"Order up and bring it with you," he told her. "I'll be waiting." He turned and left without looking back.

Five minutes later she appeared at the entrance to the private room, hands full. She was carrying two glasses and a bottle of champagne. She shot Robert a look of a shocked inquiry: wasn't he going to help her? When she realized he wasn't, she shrugged, walked up to him, and deposited everything with flare on their table.

Robert looked at her carefully. Anna was right, Elizabeth's hair was cut in exactly the same style. And she was wearing exactly what Anna would wear: smart trousers; a button-up shirt; a simple, classic blazer; a stylish trench coat. She wore a plain leather bag slung diagonally over her shoulder, the way Anna always did. Elizabeth seemed a very different woman. Robert's skin crawled.

"Funny—I assumed you'd be the type of man to help a lady, with her coat, with her chair," Elizabeth remarked. "I guess I was wrong." She moved her own chair, removed her own coat, and sat down. "Lovely to see you again Robert. I've been looking forward to our date all day. I've been giddy with excitement." She smiled and cocked her head—the way Anna would. The way Anna did.

Robert clenched his fists under the table. "Obviously this isn't a date. You have something for me. We can deal with our business fairly quickly and go our separate ways. There's no reason to linger here."

Elizabeth's smile brightened. "But I ordered us champagne! Open it, will you, Robert? I want us to drink together, to toast our agreement, our new partnership. You watch my back, I watch yours."

"I don't want any champagne."

Elizabeth sighed. "Oh, all right then, I'll do the honours. I want you to know you're really disappointing me. I had this fantasy you'd be much more gallant, much more 'Cary Grant.' You could be if you wanted." She grabbed the champagne bottle and expertly removed the cork with a subtle pop. She poured out two glasses, raised one. "To you, my most worthy opponent. Who knew reaching an impasse could be so incredibly exciting?"

She sipped from her glass. Robert didn't even raise his. She glared at him. "Drink to my toast, Robert. You can't afford to make me angry. I'm in the more powerful position here. Trust me on this."

Robert took the glass, raised it, and drained it. He put it back on the table.

Elizabeth smiled. "That's better. Keep Lizzie happy and everything will be fine."

"Do you have what you promised me?" he asked. "To be completely honest, I'm not convinced by your threats. In fact, I doubt you have anything damning on me. As far as I'm concerned, it's game over then. We go our separate ways. That means you leave town."

Elizabeth turned around, grabbed her bag, pulled out a thick envelope. "Here it is, as requested," she told Robert as she handed over the file. "Of course it's a copy, and I've removed quite a few pages I thought prudent not to share. But there's more than enough here to substantiate my claims, my 'threats' as you call them. I know more about you than Ms. Devane, the love of your life, will ever know. Some of it quite shameful."

She continued. "And just so you're aware, I have her file as well." As Elizabeth spoke, she gradually and increasingly assumed Anna's voice, her accent, took on her mannerisms. "And so, conversely, I know more about Ms. Devane than you, the love of her life, will ever know. The file contains details of exactly what you abandoned her to, Robert, when you declined the WSB's offer. It's probably better that you don't know; I suspect that, if you did, feelings of guilt would tear you apart. The suffering that woman went through! You can only hope she doesn't now and never will remember any of it. If she ever does, she might just end up hating you."

By the time Elizabeth finished, she was Anna accusing him, Anna threatening him. Robert grabbed her wrist and pulled it violently, sending Elizabeth off-balance, wrenching her forward, her elbow knocking against the table, their champagne glasses tumbling to and shattering on the floor. "Stop it," he hissed. "What the hell are you playing at? I get the threats, I get the blackmail, but I don't get why you're mimicking Anna. What's your game? You can't be her; you can never be her; you can't even be like her. You think I'll want you if you impersonate her? You think I'll want to sleep with you if you pretend to be the woman I love? You repulse me."

Elizabeth's expression went blank. Anna was gone. "I'd enjoy fucking you, Robert, but not as Anna Devane. Your devotion to her would make the sex less exciting, less satisfying for me, too tender, too loving. I'd want us to come together out of sheer physical, sheer animal attraction. And I'd like that attraction to be mixed with strong repulsion, even hate. _That_ would be incredibly gratifying to me. So you've said nothing to sadden or intimidate me here. I'm quite encouraged, in fact."

"It will never happen," Robert spat, releasing her. "So why the pretense? Why are you dressing like her, speaking like her, moving like her?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Everyone emulates someone. We're basically imitative creatures, Robert. We're accumulations of other people's gestures, other people's expressions, other people's attitudes, other people's opinions. We would have no sense of who we are, how to act, how to be human, if we didn't copy those around us. For example, according to your file, you entered the WSB to be like your father, who worked for the Australian government. But imitation is even more subtle, isn't it? You've probably on occasion caught yourself standing exactly the same way he did—perhaps crossing your arms like him, standing with your weight shifted to one side, like he did. That's not genetically programmed behaviour. That's subconscious patterning.

"And this is key—most imitation happens unconsciously. I've simply refined the process. I've made my imitation conscious. I've chosen my models and exemplars very carefully. Anna Devane is well loved. She's elegant, attractive, powerful, respected. Why not imitate her? Why not become her, at least for a while? I want what she has. How better to acquire it than by becoming her?"

Elizabeth looked to the glasses shattered on the floor. "What would Anna Devane do in this situation? No glasses, a full bottle of champagne, a raging thirst, and no one but you watching. What would she do, Robert? Can you tell me? Because I can tell you."

Now Robert's expression became flat and neutral. "She'd drink straight from the bottle. That's what she'd do. And then she'd hand the bottle over to me to do the same."

Elizabeth smiled, took the champagne, lifted it to her mouth with both hands, and drank deeply. She lowered it again and pushed it across the table towards Robert. "Read the file," she told him. "You'll want to get in touch with me when you're done. You know where I'll be."

Elizabeth got up from the table, collected her things, put on her coat, and walked away.


	22. Chapter 22

Robert was alone in the hotel suite he hadn't yet given up but hadn't slept in for weeks. He sat down on the bed and slipped the contents of the envelope onto the coverlet. He stared at the stack of papers for a moment before flipping the first over and seeing his name, birth date, and i.d. number—the letters and numbers produced by a manual typewriter in a font at once so unmistakable and familiar and now, in the age of computers, so foreign—printed out starkly in black and white. Robert Xavier Scorpio. Agent of the WSB.

Robert was shocked at the completeness of the file. The first twenty pages included a transcript of his three initial interviews with the Bureau, every question, every answer carefully documented. He briefly skimmed the single-spaced text, an embarrassing record of his youthful naïveté. He found his immature self difficult to recall and even more difficult to tolerate. Robert circa 1975 radiated an appalling juvenile certainty, about himself and about the world. Robert circa 2014 wanted to slap him, shake him, warn him how things would be and really are. He wanted to tell him not to judge too harshly. And he wanted to warn him about placing unthinking loyalty in a cause, in an agency, wanted to tell him instead to give his loyalty to a person, to an individual, to someone he loved. But the file wasn't time travel. He wasn't meeting his old self but seeing the wreckage of his history piled up behind him. There was nothing to be done to prevent the series of accidents and mistakes that was his life.

Next, he found records in the file of his early training and first assignments. He found evaluations of his conduct in the field written by O'Riley, his first partner. And Robert was honestly shocked: he'd thought she'd adored him, seen nothing but potential in him, admired his enthusiasm and commitment. Instead, O'Riley had flagged him early as problematic, a poor candidate for the Bureau. "Scorpio," she had written, "is overly critical, idealistic, and impractical. He will resist doing what he must if he feels it is morally wrong. He has an overdeveloped sense of propriety and justice."

Other evaluations and comments followed. In Shaun Donely's hand: "Needs to be handled carefully; needs clearly defined motivations for actions. Excellent completion rate. Recommended for increased security clearance and more challenging assignments." Robert skipped ahead a few pages in the file. He stopped when he reached a document describing the first case he and Anna worked together. France, 1978, they'd been sent to rescue a man being held by the DVX. He read the evaluation, again in Donely's writing: "Scorpio and Devane delivered the hostage. Were pursued, evaded capture. Reassignment recommended. Incompatible despite successful conclusion." So, Robert thought, he'd suspected them even then. Was it because of the way Robert had looked at Anna that first day in Shaun's office? Was it because they hadn't contacted him as soon as they were safe in Italy? When Shaun wrote that evaluation, had he already known that they were married? Robert turned the page.

Next, a copy of Robert's signed report identifying the Swede as a double agent. A note followed recording that Robert had been reassigned. Anna Devane, his former partner, injured on assignment, had requested retirement, and her request had been granted: Shaun Donely's signature. A brief note, scribbled in the margins, recorded that Agent Devane had been "compromised" and therefore was "expendable". The words startled Robert at first, but then he realized what they meant: not that she'd been a double agent, not that they knew about her other life, but that her face had been disfigured. As a young female agent, her beauty was seen as her most important asset. Her scar made her, in the opinion of the Bureau, useless. That's why it let her go. Robert was livid.

The following pages documented Robert's subsequent impressive list of cases, all with different partners, all undertaken in rapid succession, all increasingly dangerous. The young agent had hurled himself headlong into his assignments, taking terrible risks, realizing incredible outcomes. He was repeatedly promoted. And then suddenly he left, tired of the danger, exhausted by the pace, worn-out, craving stability. At regular intervals, with minimal annotation, the file recorded Robert's location, his job as police commissioner, his marriage to Holly Sutton.

Suddenly, in 1985, a flurry of notation: "Contact re-established with Anna Devane." Unsettling details of their reunion followed—dates of contact, patterns of movement, even transcriptions of snippets of conversations. Had their telephones been bugged, Robert wondered? Why had the Bureau been so interested? Robert turned the page. There he saw a picture of Robin in 1985, found a copy of her birth certificate (retrieved by the WSB after Robin had been delivered to Robert's doorstep and his paternity had become obvious). Though Robert and Anna had both left the Bureau, the Bureau had remained a part of their lives, and intensely interested in their activities.

Robert skipped ahead to 1990, the year Cesar Faison had appeared in Port Charles. The inquiries Robert had made about Faison, his suggestion to the agency that the DVX agent might still be alive, were recorded. The field agent Robert had met with reported Robert's refusal to reveal his source, the individual who had recognized Faison from past contact. The agent had scribbled questions on the official document: could the source be Shaun Donely? Anna Devane? How would they know Faison? How could they have identified him?

Robert flipped further ahead, to 1991. Again, intense interest in his relationship with Anna: a copy of their second marriage certificate, for god's sake, the itinerary of their honeymoon. Later, a note that Anna Devane had been assigned as a WSB special agent investigating the mysterious Cartel. Concern expressed that she might be a double agent. A note about the bug she'd planted in Robert's office while under Faison's influence, while under his hypnotic spell. Anna's exoneration; Faison's arrest.

Robert had reached December 1991. And this was what he was looking for. This was when things got messy.

* * *

><p>Anna was dreaming, though some of it might have been remembering. She was on Faison's yacht; she could tell because there was a sound, a subtle vibration, the slightest sensation of movement. She felt tired, nauseous, her stomach distended, her head light, dizzy. Suddenly Faison was in the room with her, looking at her, scrutinizing her. "I'm only seasick, Cesar," she told him; "just nauseous from the motion."<p>

One moment Cesar was twenty-three years younger, the next he was the man gagged in the Wyndemere stables, waiting while she and Robert argued whether or not he should die. "I'm seasick, Cesar," she told both men, the young and the old. "I need to lie down. I need to rest."

Young Cesar stared at her, sympathetic, uncomprehending. He offered her a bottle with two pills inside it, one yellow, one blue. "You should take this, Anna. It will help with your nausea."

Anna saw her hand reach out and take the bottle. "Thank you, Caesar. I will. I will take them, but later, and then I'll lie down."

When she looked back up, the man in front of her was no longer young. His expression was hard, skeptical, challenging. "You weren't sick for the first month of our journey," he spat. "Why are you sick now, my Anna? I've never heard of seasickness being so delayed. You should take the pills. I'd like to watch you take them now. I don't want to leave them for you to take later."

Anna stared back at him, tried to smile, tried to disarm him. But there was no use. She could trick the young Cesar but not the old. The old Cesar knew that she would kill him, given the chance. The old Cesar finally understood the depths of the revulsion she felt for him.

* * *

><p>The first details Robert knew. Anna had been black boxed, suspected of working for Faison, suspected of revealing secrets to him, suspected of loving him, suspected of leaving Robert for him. Robert felt anger and guilt as he read the file—anger that the Bureau had been so quick to expect the worst of Anna, and guilt because he himself had felt the slightest nagging doubt, a hint of a fear that Anna had abandoned him and not been snatched away. Robert read through speculations, hits on Robert's whereabouts as he tracked Cesar's yacht down to South America. And then he saw the order against his own life. Robert had gone rogue, the file recorded. He was black boxed. He and Anna were to be killed on sight.<p>

The WSB had tracked Robert's every move. They knew where he was headed and had reasoned out his target. Robert thought he'd gone dark but they'd been watching him the whole time. He next found an order sent from headquarters instructing the agents working his file to "observe and clean up" after his final confrontation with Cesar. It was assumed someone was going to be killed—Robert, Anna, Faison. Whoever survived would be dealt with by the Bureau. As it turned out, none of them died. Given the black box orders on all three, Robert wondered why they'd been allowed to survive.

More pages. Photographs of the explosion and the aftermath. More orders from headquarters, this time to keep Robert Scorpio and Anna Devane's "rescues" under wraps. Officially they were dead. Next followed medical files recording Robert's treatment. He'd been in hospital for four weeks recovering from a concussion, a broken arm, and first- and second-degree burns.

And then he saw the notes leading up to and transcripts of his meeting with Agent Carlton. Robert's hands started to sweat. He wondered if the lies Robert knew about would be acknowledged in the file. And he wondered if there were still more lies he didn't know about recorded there. He began to read.

* * *

><p>The dream shifted. Anna tried to move her hands but couldn't; they were strapped down. Everything was dark. She tried to call out but couldn't; her mouth was dry. She heard the sound of a steady, rapid beep. It sounded like a monitor, the kind they used in hospitals, a heart-rate monitor.<p>

The dreaming Anna felt herself split in two, split into the Anna who remembered and the Anna who forgot. She sensed amnesiac Anna's panic: who am I, how did I get here? She wanted to answer her questions, but the Anna who remembered had questions of her own. What was this place? She didn't sense movement; she wasn't on the yacht anymore. Why were her hands tied? Why couldn't she see? She thought she could sense cloth over her eyes; was she blindfolded? Was this what had happened after the explosion? Was the cloth over her eyes a bandage? Who had taken care of her? And why was she restrained?

* * *

><p>Someone, probably Carlton, had scribbled "Project Theseus" at the top of the first page of the next set of documents. Another sick schoolboy joke, Robert thought, reminded again of Anna's accusation that leaving was what he did best. It had wounded him deeply when she'd said it all those years ago because it was true, but the sad fact was he hadn't changed his behaviour. In Paris, he'd left Anna injured, alone, and pregnant after their last assignment. When Anna came back into his life, he'd abandoned Holly emotionally, though he remained, always concerned with moral rectitude, committed to their marriage. He'd only ever occupied the same physical space as Cheryl, allowing her to fall in love with him while keeping himself emotionally always an arm's length away. He'd loved Kate, poor Kate, while loving Anna, repeatedly leaving Kate to share his most intimate thoughts, memories, and feelings with Anna, repeatedly leaving Anna to share his bed with Kate, hurting them both terribly. Robert <em>was<em> Theseus. Certainly, after everything that had happened, it should have been more difficult to persuade him to abandon his injured and vulnerable wife. He never should have believed the lies he was told.

Robert carefully read the preparatory instructions sent from headquarters. "Scorpio should be persuaded to work _with_ us. We want 'buy-in'; he'll be easier to control working for reward. You are authorized to offer medical care and information. Under no circumstance at this point mention . . . .": the end of the sentence was blacked out. "Use threats only if the promise of reward fails. Begin with Devane's life. Then with his child's. Scorpio will be less compliant under these circumstances. This should be regarded as a last resort."

Again, Robert was angry. The bastards were prepared to threaten even Robin's life to get their way.

* * *

><p><em>"Agent Scorpio?" The man sitting at the desk stood, offered his hand. "It's an honour to meet you, Sir. You're a legend in the Bureau. New cadets study at least two of your more famous cases—Istanbul and Mexico City. Your solutions and final manoeuvres were always so inventive and elegant."<em>

_Robert didn't take the man's hand, just stared at him. "What's happened to my wife? No one will talk to me about her. I don't know if she's alive or dead." _

_Carlton smiled at him. "I understand, Robert—may I call you Robert? First things first: you've waited long enough to find this out. Your wife is alive."_

_Robert swayed slightly. _

"_Please, sit down. Here." Carlton rushed out in front of his desk and helped Robert into a chair. He looked at Robert sympathetically. "You should have been told this earlier. I'm sorry. I'm not sure why my superiors saw fit to keep you in the dark."_

_Carlton returned to his own seat. "As I said, your wife is alive. But I'm afraid she's not well. She suffered significant head injuries in the explosion. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but she's been in a coma since the accident. To be honest, we don't know her prognosis. Our doctors aren't optimistic that she'll recover anytime soon. If—I'm sorry, when—she regains consciousness, her convalescence will be long. We do know that she stands the best shot of complete recovery if she has the very best care. Which is what we're providing her with, Robert. I promise you."_

"_I want to see her," Robert demanded. "I should be with her. Take me to her right now."_

_Carlton shook his head. "I'm sorry, Robert, that isn't possible. She's not here. She's been flown to Europe. She's being treated in one of our military hospitals."_

"_Tell me where. Get me a flight. I want to be with my wife."_

_Carlton settled back into his chair. "I can do that for you, certainly. I can arrange for you to be taken to her. But she won't recognize you. She won't open her eyes. She won't squeeze your hand. You can sit by her side, but honestly, Robert, she won't be in the room with your. She's somewhere else."_

_Robert said nothing. _

_Carlton sighed. "I have to convey a message from headquarters that I personally find very distasteful. But you understand I'm just following orders." He looked pained. "We've been caring for Anna Devane despite the fact that she's been black boxed by the Bureau."_

"_As I've been," Robert told him._

_Carlton smiled. "Yes. But Robert, your black box has been lifted. Anna's hasn't—yet. You're still a former agent in good standing, a status that carries with it certain privileges. For example, the best medical care. Agent Devane is suspected of having been a double agent. And yet we've flown her to the most highly regarded centre for the treatment of brain injury in the world. Why might we have done that?"_

_Robert said nothing._

"_Because of you. Because of our gratitude toward and our respect for you. And we're prepared to continue caring for Anna if you'd like us to. Of course, we'd want something from you in return. We'd like you to come back and work for the Bureau. We've created a new branch of intelligence, a new program, and we think you'd be a perfect fit. You come back to us, we take care of your wife. We arrange for the very best doctors. We keep you updated on her progress. The moment she regains consciousness, we let you know."_

_Robert stared at Carlton. "If I say no?"_

_Carlton shrugged. "Then we fly you to be with your wife, Robert. And you collect her. You arrange for medical care somewhere else. As I said, I find this subject distasteful. But the Bureau wants you to know that it will stop caring for Agent Devane if you decline its invitation."_

"_So I'm being blackmailed."_

_Carlton smiled, shook his head. "No, I don't want you to think of it that way. The WSB is offering to reward you for your loyalty. We want to help you. Unfortunately the organization feels no obligation to your wife. You're the key to helping her recover, Robert. The choice is yours: you can have her back now, as a physical shell, or you can take a chance and hope to have her back, well and whole again, later. In the meantime, you help us out."_

_Robert's head dropped._

"_And Robert," Carlton continued, "the WSB wants to give you something further, something we know you'll want, given the hell you've been through for the last six months."_

_Robert looked up again._

"_We've heard whispers that Cesar Faison survived the explosion as well." Carlton looked grim. He was a consummate actor. "The Bureau would like Faison dead, as we suspect you would. He's been a thorn in our side for too long. We can offer you intelligence about his whereabouts as we receive it. And we can promise you the assignment to terminate him when the time comes. We're offering you everything here. I don't see how you can possibly turn us down."_

* * *

><p>The dream changed again. The Anna who'd forgotten was confused. She'd never experienced sensations like this before. But dreaming Anna had. Was her mind playing tricks on her? Was it conflating 1979 with 1992? She felt her abdomen and back seize, felt a wave of pain wash over her. But this wasn't 1979. Anna remembered the room she'd given birth to Robin in, remembered the kind midwife, her soothing voice, remembered the warmth, the heat of the day. In the dream, Anna's hands were still tied to the bed, but now she could see. The room was white, sterile, cold. She could see two figures, gowned and masked, hovering around her. She felt them guide her legs into stirrups. The pain came over her again.<p>

* * *

><p>Robert had taken the offer. He'd joined their new branch of intelligence—an assassination squad. He'd received tantalizing false information about Cesar Faison—that he'd been tracked to Germany, next to Finland, then to Croatia. And he'd received phony updates on Anna's condition—that she was beginning to emerge from her coma, that brain scans were showing positive activity, that she'd moved her hand, her foot. Two years after the accident he was told that she was awake but couldn't speak, didn't seem to recognize anyone from her past (she'd been shown photographs to which she'd shown no response). Robert had demanded to see her but he was told no, the doctors thought it would be too dangerous, could compromise her recovery.<p>

By then he knew that they were feeding him fictions, that he was being manipulated. After five years he told his handlers he didn't want their updates anymore, or their transparently fabricated reports of Faison's movements. After seven years, disgusted with himself and with the work he'd been doing for the Bureau, he'd simply walked away, but not before confronting Carlton. That's when he'd learned it had _all_ been a lie. Anna had never been flown to Europe for treatment. She hadn't been seen by the best doctors. She'd been treated in a second-rate Venezuelan hospital, been given no special care, and simply disappeared one night when her guard fell asleep. They suspected her doctor had taken her somewhere, who knew for what reason. She was still a very beautiful woman. But she was certainly dead by now. Carlton had laughed when he told Robert this. In response, Robert grabbed Carlton around the neck, squeezed, and almost killed him. But before he could, he was stopped. It took four men to pry open Robert's fingers and drag him away from his commanding officer.

He turned his attention back to the file. He found a copy of a short message sent to the hospital where Anna had been kept. "Black box order to be carried out after delivery."

The bastards had planned to kill her all along, Robert realized. Then he wondered, delivery of what? Why had they delayed? He flipped forward in the dossier but found nothing.

* * *

><p>Anna heard a small cry. "Robin?" she screamed in her dream. "Robin?" She was sure she'd heard Robin cry. Robin was being taken away from her. She had to get her baby daughter back. She had to fight.<p>

Then there was confusion. She felt hands on her arms, her face, felt herself lashing out, her hands pushing someone away, felt her right hand contacting something hard and soft.

"Mom!" she heard. "It's okay; you're safe. Mom, calm down! Please, Mom, you'll hurt yourself. You're safe here with us. Please, stop it. Stop it now!"

* * *

><p>Robert's phone rang and he jumped. He looked; it was Robin, and it was four in the morning. His stomach lurched. "What is it, Sweetheart? Is everything okay?"<p>

Robin told him it wasn't.

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later he was standing in his daughter's living room. She looked at him, distraught.<p>

"What's going on, Dad?" she asked, her face white, her eyes hollow. "I've never seen Mom like this. We couldn't calm her down. Look what she did to Patrick."

Robert glanced over at his daughter's husband. His eye was already darkening; Robert knew it would look much, much worse in a few hours.

Robert drew Robin in, hugged her. "I don't know what's going on, Luv. I'm sorry I wasn't here to help you. I shouldn't have asked you to take care of her right now. But I promise it will be okay. I promise I'll help her. "

Robin pulled back. "We've given her a mild sedative. I didn't like to do it, but we couldn't get her to relax, couldn't settle her down. She may have fallen asleep again by now. Could you go up and check on her? I'm worried I'll just upset her."

He released his daughter, murmured an apology to Patrick, and headed upstairs to Anna. He entered the guest room, saw her curled up on the bed. She looked asleep. He lowered himself down next to her, wrapped himself around her. He was surprised when she whispered his name. "Robert," she said; "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," he told her. "Now we move on."


	23. Chapter 23

Sorry for the delay - a busy time at work and mild writer's block. I'm aiming to get back to posting once a week.

Not my favourite chapter, I have to admit. But sometimes you just need to move the story forward!

* * *

><p>Robert came down the next morning as Robin, Patrick, and Emma were having their breakfast. Patrick's eye had turned a deep shade of blueblack. Anna's fist had landed accurately and effectively.

"Robert," Patrick said and nodded greeting. "Coffee's on in the kitchen. Help yourself."

"How's Mom, Dad?" Robin asked, anxious.

"Fine," Robert responded, and tried to smile reassuringly. "Embarrassed. She didn't want to come down. Maybe you could go up later . . . ?"

Robin put down her own coffee and stood. She squeezed Robert's arm as she passed him on the way upstairs.

Robert went into the kitchen, poured himself coffee, came back out, and sat down opposite Patrick. He tried to think how to break the ice. "So," he began, "what's your story going to be? To explain the shiner?"

Patrick put down his piece of toast. "Not sure yet. A bar room brawl? A mugging? Considering the family I married into, a foiled world domination attempt?"

"You could always stick to the tried-and-true 'I walked into a door.'"

Patrick shook his head. "Then they'll all think I'm the victim of spousal abuse. No, I need a story that's really fantastic. It'll be more believable."

Robert sipped his coffee. "She's really sorry, you know. She didn't have any idea what she was doing."

Patrick sighed. "I know. But she still packed a wallop. She's so petite, you'd never suspect the power behind those fists."

Robert smiled. "Believe me, I know. She hauled off and slugged me once. I flew across the room. Mind you, I was staggering drunk. Anyway, I'm lucky I didn't lose a couple of teeth."

Patrick smiled back. "Did you deserve it?"

Robert put down his coffee cup. "To be honest, I barely remember the incident. As I mentioned, alcohol was involved. The one thing I can say for certain is that I deserved what I got, and much worse. It was not my proudest moment." Robert vaguely remembered publicly accusing Anna of cheating on him with Faison. He remembered better the shock of her blow.

Patrick brought Robert back from the past to the present. "Do you think," he asked, "that she was dreaming about you when she clocked me?"

Robert shook his head. "No. If she'd been dreaming about me, she would have hit a lot harder. And a lot lower."

* * *

><p>Robin knocked on the guest room door. A small voice answered. "Come in."<p>

Robin opened the door, smiled at her mother who was seated on the edge of the bed, hands in lap. "Robin," Anna half sobbed and then caught her breath, controlled her emotion. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened last night. Please forgive me."

Robin shut the door behind her and walked over to sit beside her mother on the bed. She took Anna's hands. "Mom, it's okay. Don't be sorry. Patrick and I are just worried about you. What's the matter? What were you dreaming last night? You were frantic. Can you remember?"

Anna shook her head. She didn't want Robin to worry, or to think that she might be the source of Anna's anxieties. "It was just a nightmare. I don't remember what it was about. And it doesn't matter. I have no excuse for how I acted. Please apologize to Patrick for me." Anna hesitated. "Robert told me I gave him a black eye."

Robin leaned into her mother affectionately. "Don't worry about Patrick. He's a big boy. I think more than anything he's just astounded at how strong you are. His eye may be black, but what's mainly bruised is his macho pride. And I think that kind of injury is rarely fatal."

Anna gave a small smile. "A repeatedly bruised machismo never killed your father."

Robin laughed. "You see? If it would have killed anyone, it would be Dad. So Patrick will be fine."

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, Robert appeared with a breakfast tray for Anna. Robin looked at her watch.<p>

"Oh – I've got to go get Emma ready for school. Mom, Patrick will be leaving for work shortly. If you want to avoid him for now, just wait twenty minutes and then you can have run of the house. I'll be leaving around the same time, and after I drop off Emma I have an appointment with the hospital psychologist. One more step to getting reinstated at GH." Robin leaned over and kissed her mother on the cheek. Then she looked at her father. "You take care of her."

Robert smiled. "No problem. Don't worry. Now you just go pretend to be normal and get your job back."

Robin rolled her eyes and left the room.

Robert set the breakfast tray down on the bed. "Eat and drink up. It'll make you feel better."

At that moment, Anna's phone rang. She made a move to get it; Robert blocked her, reached the phone first. He answered, grimaced.

"Baldwin. Commissioner Devane isn't feeling well at the moment, I'm afraid." A pause. "She had almost no sleep last night." Another pause. "I don't know, maybe food poisoning. Anyway, she'll be in later. When you see her, you'll know I'm telling the truth. She looks like hell."

Anna frowned at Robert, took a tentative bite of toast.

"Yeah. Well, she'll be expecting you then. Sure. Goodbye." Robert ended the call and looked hard at Anna.

"What?" she asked.

"Baldwin will be coming to see you this afternoon. Three o'clock. He'll want an update."

Anna threw her toast to the plate and slumped.

"And I'd like us to have a serious conversation right now." Robert sat down onto the bed next to her. "Are you going to be honest with me about these dreams? What are they about, Anna? Why do they upset you so much? And are they getting worse?"

Anna looked back at Robert. "Are you going to be honest with me about your appointment last night? Who did you meet, Robert? Did it have something to do with the Thompson case? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Robert stared at Anna. "I met Elizabeth Beaty. She said she had information for me but it turned out to be nothing. Not a big deal."

"You need to watch her," Anna told him. "That woman is dangerous."

"I'm not unaware of the fact. But now it's your turn. I don't believe that you don't remember your dreams, Anna. What are they about? Why won't you tell me?"

Anna stared at Robert. "Last night I dreamt that someone took Robin away. I was fighting to get her back. I don't need a psychiatrist to tell me why I might have dreamt that my daughter was being taken from me."

For a moment they looked at each other, neither fully believing what the other had said. Then Anna looked down, picked up her coffee, and sipped, avoiding Robert's eyes.

* * *

><p>After dropping Anna off at the station, Robert spent the morning pretending to read a newspaper in the lobby of the Metro Court Hotel. At 11:00, Elizabeth emerged from the elevator, a picture of easy elegance, relaxed openness, and ready awareness: all studied, all imitated, all false. She flashed one of the bellboys a heart-stopping smile – Anna's smile, generous, genuine. The young bellboy smiled back, half-bowed and half-tripped over himself as he passed her. What was he responding to, Robert wondered: Elizabeth's almost unnatural beauty or Anna's kind and inviting manner? The two in combination, likely. A deadly combination, Robert thought.<p>

And this made him remember something Stephen had said months earlier: that Carolyn Thompson had been an incredibly kind and generous person, that she'd had an amazing ability to connect with other people. That everyone loved her. Robert thought of Anna, although not so much the woman she was today, slightly brittle, much more guarded, but still compassionate and caring. He thought more of the Anna he'd been drawn to again after their estrangement. Despite, or because, of her accident and Robert's abandonment, she'd become very loving, almost desperate for human connection, and refused to judge others for their mistakes, forgiving to a fault. Everyone she'd met in Port Charles, even those who'd wanted desperately to hate her, had come to love her, had become fiercely loyal to her. Robert himself had been at the top of that list.

Robert wondered if Elizabeth had ever patterned herself on Carolyn. He made a mental note to phone Stephen after he searched Elizabeth's penthouse suite. He stood and headed for the elevator.

* * *

><p>There was a tap at Anna's office door. "Come in," she called.<p>

A smartly dressed woman of about thirty-five stepped into the office. Her black hair was cut in a chin-length bob; her glasses were dark rimmed, angular and bold. Bright red lipstick competed with her eyeglasses for attention. "Commissioner Devane. Rubin told me you wanted to see me. If it's about the Peters case, I haven't had a chance to interview the young man yet. I can't really say what his state of mind was on the night in question. I'm having difficulty persuading his parents that a psychiatric assessment could actually benefit his defense."

Anna stood, shook her head. "No, Dr. McLean. This isn't about the Peters case. Please come in and sit down."

Anna waited for the doctor to take a seat and then sat down again herself. "Actually, I'm hoping you can give me a bit of advice off the record. I hope you don't mind."

Dr. McLean pushed her glasses up further on the bridge of her nose and smiled. "I'm happy to be of assistance if I can. What do you need advice about?"

Anna sat back in her chair. "Do you have any experience with memory loss due to brain injury?"

Dr. McLean sat up straighter. "I'm afraid I deal more with mental illness and psychiatric problems, some caused by identifiable organic disease but most just caused by chronic and acute psychological trauma. I know a bit about brain injury, but it really isn't my specialty. Why do you ask?"

Anna was silent for a moment. Then she added cautiously, "Off the record and between the two of us?"

Dr. McLean looked surprised and nodded her head. "Of course."

Anna crossed her arms. "How much do you know about my past, Dr. McLean? I assume you've heard whispers around the water cooler. Are you aware that I suffered a significant brain injury over twenty years ago?"

Dr. McLean hesitated and then nodded again. "I've heard something about your past, Commissioner. And I'm sure you understand, given the type of work I do, I found it very interesting. But those whispers, I have to say, were ridiculously fantastic. I promise you, I didn't believe everything I was told."

Anna pursed her lips. Her left shoulder tensed; she stretched it down and back. "I'm afraid the truth about my past _is_ ridiculously fantastic. I sometimes have trouble believing it myself. Because, you see, I don't remember much from immediately before or after my accident. For years I experienced total memory loss – I didn't remember who I was, where I was from, my family members, my friends. I couldn't remember my husband or my child."

Dr. McLean sat forward in her chair. "Your initial memory loss could have been due to injury. But the extended loss seems more of a block to me: you didn't want to remember your husband, your child. The memory loss was protective in some way."

Anna shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Yes, well, I'd watched my husband die, or so I thought, and blamed myself for his death, I'm sure. When I finally remembered him, years later, I suffered terribly. I don't know why I blocked the memory of my daughter, though. She was – is – very much alive."

Dr. McLean shook her head. "Perhaps some related trauma. Or perhaps a belief that you caused her harm in some way, or could cause her harm. That she was better off without you."

Anna looked away from the doctor, down into the corner of the room. "Most of my memories returned years ago, when I was reunited with her. The thing is, since that time, I've had flashes of what I think might be additional memories, of the months before my accident, and maybe of the months after. But right now they're just images, feelings. They might be fantasies – or nightmares. I don't know how to categorize them. And I'm not even sure it's possible that I could be recovering memories after all of these years."

Dr. McLean was obviously fascinated. She pushed her glasses up again; the frames were too large for her face. "It is possible, certainly. Especially if the memories are particularly distressing. You described the images as nightmares. What exactly are you seeing, Commissioner?"

Anna met the doctor's gaze, shook her head. "I can't tell you that. I don't feel able to say."

Dr. McLean uncrossed her legs and leaned even further forward. "Can you point to particular events that might have triggered these memories? What happened right before you began 'remembering'?"

Anna bit her lip, then cleared her throat. "I found out my husband was alive and was reunited with him, briefly. And more recently I resumed a relationship with my – with him."

Dr. McLean was thoughtful. "And these possible memories relate to him in some way? To your relationship?"

Anna nodded. "Yes. Or they could be figments of my imagination. Phantasms. The vapours of an injured mind. I don't trust what I'm seeing, Siobhain. Not at all."

McLean considered. Then she asked, "Do you _want_ to remember, Anna? Or do you want to forget again? You're obviously distressed."

Anna gripped the armrests of her chair. "What I want is irrelevant. I need to deal with what's inside my head. Is there any way finally to resolve whether I'm remembering or fabricating?"

Siobhain McLean leaned back in her chair. "In the past, hypnosis was thought to be helpful in cases like this . . ."

Anna shook her head. "No. No hypnosis. Absolutely not." Cesar Faison had been a master hypnotist. Anna didn't know what might emerge if she was put under again.

Siobhain smiled. "You didn't let me finish. Today, memory recovery techniques like hypnosis are considered highly suspect. 'Memories' recalled under hypnosis might in fact be something else: wishes, fears, implanted suggestions from the psychotherapist. So no, no hypnosis. Absolutely not."

Anna nodded, looked relieved.

"I'm afraid I can't offer you any medication or any particular technique to recall your lost memories or to distinguish memory from fiction. You could try therapy to help remove the block. I'd be happy to try to help you. But if you feel uncomfortable sharing with me the content of your 'memories,' you could try talking to your husband."

"Ex-husband," Anna corrected, then added, "I think. We were both declared dead. I assume that renders our marriage null and void."

Siobhain smiled. "Legally, yes. But given that your possible new memories were triggered in both cases by his reappearance in your life, perhaps not in any other sense. Is this something you can discuss with him?"

Anna thought. "To be honest, I'm not sure."

"You need to talk to someone, Anna – your ex-husband, me, one of my colleagues if you feel uneasy revealing details of your past to someone you work with. I do understand." Siobhain looked at her watch. "And I'm extremely sorry: I need to leave for my next appointment." She stood; Anna stood as well. They shook hands. "If you want my help, call my office and we'll set up a time. Take care, Anna."

Dr. McLean left, and Anna considered her options.

* * *

><p>Robert was careful to avoid the security cameras placed, as far as he could tell, almost at random throughout the Metro Court hallways. Their system was absolutely appalling, fortunately for him. He exploited gaping holes and dark spots, gained access to Elizabeth's door, and quickly bypassed the card reader. He was inside in less than a minute – not bad for an old spy, he thought. Older spy, he corrected himself.<p>

Once inside, he moved slowly, looked for any obvious signs of surveillance equipment. He doubted Elizabeth would be paranoid enough to install nanny cams in the room; that kind of behaviour wouldn't fit her profile. She came from privilege, felt absolutely secure, felt untouchable. He had a feeling this made her slightly careless and therefore vulnerable. Slightly vulnerable, he corrected himself again.

He was hoping she was so careless that she'd hidden the missing pages of his file somewhere in the room. Maybe he'd even find a copy of Anna's dossier somewhere close at hand. Given her obsession, Robert doubted Elizabeth would be happy travelling back and forth to a safety deposit box to familiarize and re-familiarize herself with details of Anna's past.

But where to look? Robert began to search through Elizabeth's things.

* * *

><p>Final forensic reports were now complete for all of the shootings. Anna studied them again to prepare for her meeting with Scott Baldwin. Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. What could she possibly tell him that would satisfy him? Other than that she quit?<p>

Perhaps she'd tell him everything she knew about Gino Giordano and the mysterious Ms Wu. Other cities had dedicated organized crime units; they had lawyers in the DA's office that specialized in prosecuting gangsters. Maybe Baldwin could speak to the mayor, could agitate for increased resources. Anna doubted he would, but theoretically he could choose to support her instead of repeatedly trying to take her out at the knees.

But in the end, did she really care?

Anna put down the file she was looking at, picked up the phone. She dialed.

"Hello. This is Anna Devane. I'd like to book an appointment with Dr. McLean. As soon as possible. Thank you."

* * *

><p>He found nothing. The room was relatively empty, given the length of time Elizabeth had been staying in Port Charles. He'd found a few books, a walk-in closet full of clothes, many still with tags attached – new purchases since she'd arrived in town. In the bureau, stashed beneath Elizabeth's lingerie (none of it even remotely similar to Anna's, he noted with some relief – at least there were limits to Elizabeth's knowledge and powers of imitation), he'd found a small box of jewelry. He rifled through it quickly, but nothing seemed remarkable. Most of it seemed surprisingly inexpensive, given Elizabeth's incredible wealth. Robert wondered if she'd bought the pieces in Port Charles. Some of it looked like jewelry Anna might wear, but not all of it. He felt silly but photographed everything, just in case.<p>

He'd search every obvious hiding place, and even, with the help of a handy gadget borrowed from and never returned to the WSB, cracked the lock of the room safe, which was empty. Elizabeth was better than he'd suspected. She'd known he could and would get in. The room seemed completely clean.

Robert took one last look around, made sure everything had been returned to its original location and condition, and exited as carefully as he'd entered. Once back in the lobby, he dialed Stephen Corbett's number. "Stephen, this is Robert Scorpio. I'd like us to meet again as soon as possible. And I'll need to see those photographs you showed me again."

* * *

><p>It was six o'clock when Robert returned to Anna's apartment. He'd arranged to get together with Corbett the following afternoon at the sports bar they'd first met in, largely because he assumed there was little chance of Elizabeth or Anna walking in on them there.<p>

He found Anna in the living room curled in her favourite chair, a glass of red wine next to her, a book in her hand. "Hello," she told him. "Where have you been all day? You didn't pester me once at work – you didn't bother me about wearing the vest, didn't bring me lunch. Frankly, I was a little worried."

Robert walked over, leaned down, gave her a peck on the cheek. "The honeymoon's over, I guess. I must have been avoiding you. But you wore the vest, right? And how was your meeting with Baldwin? Was it a good day, bad day?"

Anna put the book down on her lap, smiled, and picked up her wine glass. "A very good day. I decided to tell our DA everything – well, not everything, but almost everything. I told him about Wu, Giordano, the conversation I had with him while we were dancing, the likelihood that Port Charles is in the middle of another mob war with new players and higher stakes. That Wu and Giordano are more like the villains we fought years ago. They aren't bipolar with complicated childhoods. They're psychopaths, pure and simple, with no redeeming qualities."

"The stuff of melodrama," Robert mumbled. "Real moustache-twirlers."

Anna laughed, not realizing Robert wasn't entirely joking.

"And how did Baldwin react?"

"Surprisingly well. You could have knocked me over with a feather."

"I can think of things I'd rather do to you with a feather."

Anna ignored the comment. "He remembers the Wu family's crimes in the Asian quarter. And he was intrigued by my theory that Giordano targeted Sonny. Really, I think he's just fantasizing about the headline: 'Evil foreign nationals nabbed by patriotic, born-in-the-USA district attorney Scott Baldwin.'"

"'For killing evil American national with stranglehold on criminal activities in seedy port city.' I suppose Baldwin would like that last bit left off."

"Well, headlines can't be over long."

"Of course they can't; you shouldn't give away all the salacious details right from the get-go, should you? You need to leave something to discuss in the article itself, just in case someone bothers to read it. For example, I'm pretty sure you didn't mention to Baldwin that Giordano owns Duke's new club."

Anna was quiet for a moment. "No I didn't. But it's no secret. Baldwin is capable of putting two and two together."

"But will he get four? I wouldn't count on it." Robert leaned in and kissed Anna again, this time on the mouth, and far less chastely.

When they broke apart, Anna wiped her lipstick from his mouth. "I missed you last night," she told him.

"From what Robin and Patrick told me," Robert joked, "it was a lucky escape. I'm an older, frailer gentleman. You might have killed me."

"You're no gentleman," Anna replied.

Robert knelt by her chair. "And that's why you love me."

"No," she shook her head. "That's why I want you. I love you for other reasons."

"Which are?" he asked.

"Damned if I know," she sighed. "But there must be some kind of twisted logic behind the feeling."

"You know why I love you?" he asked Anna. She smiled, shook her head.

"Because we tell each other everything. Because you don't keep secrets from me."

"That isn't true. And I'm not the only one with secrets. So that isn't why you love me."

"Why then?" he asked, his arms around her.

"Because I'm your other half," she explained. "Because for you there is no one else. Because I complete you, as well as your sentences. It sounds cliché, but in your case it's completely true."

"I have to admit, I hate when you finish my sentences, but I really, really like when you complete _me_. I enjoy joining up with my better half. Would you like to complete me before dinner?" Robert pulled Anna toward him.

And then she smiled – that smile. It was spontaneous, real, genuine. It meant something, stood for something, was unquestionably _hers_. Everything he loved about her concentrated in and radiated out to him in that smile.

She kissed him. He pulled her up from the chair, picked her up, and carried her down the hall.


	24. Chapter 24

When you write something over a long period of time and don't have a chance to go back and edit/revise, you create quite a few consistency problems (content, tone) and pacing is a real challenge! This has certainly been a learning experience . . .

* * *

><p>Sonny Corinthos' funeral was arranged for the next day. His body had finally been released by the coroner, and his family had made elaborate preparations for its internment: a large funeral mass at the cathedral, burial at the most exclusive cemetery just outside of Port Charles (in a plot on the top of a hill with a view of the city skyline), and a "celebration of his life" at the ballroom of the Metro Court Hotel. Attendance at the mass and celebration was by invitation only. At Dante Falconeri's request, and to avoid potential further violence, Anna had arranged for a visible police presence at each of the venues. She'd also arranged for detectives in unmarked cars to stake-out the various gatherings, cameras at the ready. She wanted to know everyone who attended the funeral or tried to attend the funeral. She needed to know who was in league with whom. She'd know better in twenty-four hours once all the information was in.<p>

In contrast, Shawn Butler's funeral, the day before, had been small, attended only by his nephew and a few close friends. The other two murder victims remained in the morgue; no one had collected their bodies on release. Anna suspected that they would eventually be buried without fanfare at the state's expense. The fates of the four bodies, she thought bitterly, illustrated better than anything society's differing treatment of innocent victims, minor criminals, and crime bosses. The first two were largely disdained while the latter were feted and lauded.

Anna fidgeted at her desk. It was only 9:30 in the morning; the funeral was scheduled to start at 2:00 and the gathering would continue well into the evening. All she could do now was wait.

* * *

><p>Gino Giordano woke at his usual time. He got up, took a leisurely shower, ate his usual breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast. He knew it might kill him; his father had died of a heart attack at sixty-two. But Gino hoped his exercise regimen was in some way protective and that he might squeeze a few more years out of <em>his<em> life. At least he didn't smoke like his father, who'd burned through two packs of cigarettes a day, frequently chased with a luscious Cuban just before bed. Gino didn't even smoke after sex any more, and only indulged in the odd cigar, usually to mark some important event: the birth of a baby, the death of a rival.

Giordano went to his closet and considered his choices. What to wear, he wondered. He decided on a smart dark grey suite and a conservative-blue tie.

* * *

><p>An early riser, Mei Wu had been awake, showered, and dressed for hours. She sat sipping tea and watching the local news. She noted with some satisfaction that most of her business in Port Charles continued well under the radars of the local press and of the local police. But with more satisfaction, she realized that she could legitimately claim part in the most interesting and significant events reported during the newscast: the shootings of the previous week and Sonny Corinthos' funeral. Like an iceberg, most of her influence and effect lay hidden under the waterline, while one-tenth loomed spectacularly above, inspiring fear and awe.<p>

She would be the iceberg today, a vision in white. Everyone would notice her but no one would truly understand the threat she presented. And if anyone came too close, she would tear him open from bow to stern.

* * *

><p>At noon, Robert dropped by Anna's office with take-out from Kelly's. When he arrived, Anna and Rubin were deep in conference. Robert made as though to leave, but Anna waved him in. "We're just finishing up, Robert. Rubin and I could both use a break. Rubin, take lunch, but be back in forty-five, okay?"<p>

Rubin nodded, gathered up his papers, and practically ran out of the room.

Robert grimaced. "The younger generation have no work ethic."

"Says the man," Anna teased, "who never arrives at the office before 10:00 in the morning."

"I work odd hours. But I put in my time."

"I know, I know," Anna sighed. "But I don't blame Rubin for wanting to bolt. Things have been tense around here lately. I've been tense. Corinthos' funeral is today. We're not sure what might happen."

Robert gave Anna a meaningful look. "You're staying away from the funeral, right? Because if you're not, I'm officially designating myself your escort."

Anna shook her head. "Unnecessary. I'll be in the office all day, feeling useless."

"Are you expecting something to go down?" Robert began unpacking their lunch.

"No idea. But whatever happens, we'll be watching carefully. That's all we can do right now: watch and wait."

Robert frowned. "You've never really been good at that, Luv."

Anna sat down, opened the lid of her coffee cup. "Neither have you. Do you still flip your pen around in that maddening way when you're on a stake-out?"

Robert smiled. "Wards off arthritis. Keeps the digits nimble."

Anna laughed. "Shut up and eat your lunch, old man. In two hours we'll start to receive intel. You might need your energy then."

Robert looked away from her, unwrapped his sandwich. "About that – I need to step away for a bit this afternoon. I shouldn't be gone for long. You can spare me, right?"

Anna watched him from the corner of her eye. "Of course. Don't worry about me. Does it have something to do with the Thompson case?"

Robert shook his head. "Nah – just personal stuff. It'll take an hour, tops."

Anna took a bite from her sandwich and thought, not for the first time, that Robert's worst trait as an agent was and always had been his inability to tell a convincing lie.

* * *

><p>The first to arrive at the cathedral were members of Sonny's immediate family – Olivia Falconeri, Dante, Sonny's other sons, and his daughter. Then his ex-wives and ex-lovers appeared, careful to look fabulous in their "widow's" weeds. Brenda, having surveyed her surroundings, aimed a cutting look at Carly. Carly ignored Brenda and made a show of comforting her children, who were genuinely distraught. Alexis rolled her eyes and did what she could to avoid both while keeping a careful eye on her daughter Christina and offering her support.<p>

The other guests who arrived by and large included the usual suspects: Sonny's known associates and friends in Port Charles as well as from New York. Luke Spencer was in attendance, his photograph taken, with all of the others', by a plainclothes detective parked across the street from the cathedral's main doors. Duke Lavery arrived and was photographed, his expression neutral. His attendance was noted by two men in dark coats who had arrived earlier that morning on the shuttle from New York. All three nodded at one another (another photograph preserved the moment) and entered the church in single file. Each presented an invitation (printed on fine white paper ringed with a black border) to the very large and very intimidating ushers stationed at the door. Inside, they were greeted by Dante on behalf of his mother. Too emotional, Olivia had excused herself and was waiting alone in the sacristy for the service to start.

Then a dark limousine pulled up. The driver stepped out, opened the passenger side door, and offered his arm to the person inside. It was lightly grasped by a gloved hand, and Mei Wu emerged, dressed in pure white: a sharply tailored jacket, a pencil skirt, and elegant white pumps. She stood on the sidewalk, not looking back but waiting. Gino Giordano rose up out of the car, tugged down and straightened his jacket, and moved to stand beside her. He offered her his arm, which she took, and together they ascended the staircase to the main entrance.

There, Giordano presented his invitation to the security duo at the door. They waved him into the cathedral.

Everything was, of course, recorded by the detective below in the car, who, though familiar with Sonny's known local associates, had absolutely no idea who Giordano and Wu might be.

* * *

><p>Anna was parked in front of her computer screen. "We should start receiving images any minute now," she told Robert. "Are you sure you have to leave?"<p>

He responded by putting on his coat. "Sorry, Luv, I've got to go. I won't be long. Promise me I'll find you here when I get back. If you need to leave for some reason – if something happens – call me. If I can pick up, I will. Leave me a message if I can't and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Anna looked unhappy. "And you promise to call me if something happens on your end. Be careful, Robert."

Robert smiled. "Like I said, nothing serious. Personal business. I'll be back in no time at all."

* * *

><p>Dante, who had just finished talking briefly with Duke, turned to welcome the next guests in the queue. Not recognizing either of them, he smiled carefully and offered his hand to the man in the dark grey suit. "Thank you for coming," he said; "I'm Sonny's oldest son, Dante Falconeri. I don't think we've meet."<p>

Giordano took his hand. "Gino Giordano," he replied; "and this is my very close friend Mei Wu." The handshake was warm; Anna had been careful not to share her suspicions with Dante, not before she had evidence. Wu didn't offer her hand but merely nodded. "My father Vito and Joe Scully were close friends," Giordano continued; "I met your father when we were both young men. We later became business associates and cooperated on a number of … initiatives. I was very sorry to hear about his death. You have my deepest condolences."

Dante nodded comprehension. They belonged to the mob, were members of his father's other family. The family Dante had rejected. For one day, though, Dante resolved, they would put aside their differences to honour his father's memory. "Thank you," he said.

* * *

><p>Stephen was waiting for Robert when he arrived, sitting at the same table they'd met at weeks before. Arms resting on the table, his shoulders were slumped, and he looked troubled. Robert was aware that he was largely responsible for raising the spectre haunting the other man. Somehow Robert had to put it right, had to put Carolyn to rest again. He approached the table and sat down.<p>

"Stephen," he nodded hello. "I'm sorry to involve you once again. Thanks for agreeing to meet me one more time."

Stephen shrugged. "It's okay. Anything I can do to help."

"Pardon my saying so, but you look like hell. Is everything okay?"

Stephen smiled wanly. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking. I'm just preoccupied." He paused, then continued hesitantly. "You know, I'd thought before that I hadn't really gotten over Carolyn's death. But it wasn't true; I had, at least to a certain extent. I guess with time everything actually does become less painful. You're reminded less and less and learn to block things out. Now, since the police reopened Carolyn's case, I think about her all the time. I can't concentrate on anything else; I keep seeing her face. I feel nauseous, the way I did when she first went missing. My life feels suspended again. I feel like I'm living in the past."

Robert folded his hands on the table. "I know it isn't any consolation, Stephen, but I do understand what you're going through. And I promise you again that I'll do everything in my power to find out what happened to your wife. But before I can do that, I need to ask you a few more questions, and I need to see those photographs I asked you for."

Stephen pulled an envelope from his satchel and pushed it across the table to Robert. "These are the photos I showed you originally plus the others you requested. I'm not sure why you need these pictures in particular."

Robert opened the envelope and quickly flipped through the photos he'd already seen. What he really wanted to study were additional pictures of Elizabeth and Carolyn. "I can't explain just yet. I'm working on a hunch that may be incorrect, and I don't want to share anything in case I'm wrong." Robert reached the first of the new pictures he'd asked to see. "Are these in chronological order?"

Stephen nodded. "Yeah, just what you asked for. The first photo is of Elizabeth and me after our first year of university. It was 1981."

Robert studied it. Elizabeth was dressed in a flowing shift dress; her hair was shoulder-length and feathered; she wore roman sandals that tied up around her calves. He flipped to the next photograph.

Stephen explained, unprompted. "This was after graduation, my first degree. So that would have been the spring of 1984." Elizabeth was dressed in a purple jumpsuit with a wide black belt and ankle boots. Her hair was the same length, but now her bangs were wildly-curled.

The next photograph: "Elizabeth and I didn't see each other for a few years. I went to grad school out west; she travelled around Europe for awhile before going back to school. The next time we met up was 1991, I think. I was travelling for business and we happened to be in the same city at the same time." Stephen and Elizabeth were standing with their arms somewhat awkwardly wrapped around each other in front of a large and ornately decorated fountain. Robert didn't recognize the location. Elizabeth was dressed in ripped jeans and in a mannish, over-sized suit jacket rolled up at the wrists. Her hair was much shorter and cut in a complicated asymmetrical design.

Robert flipped to the next picture. Stephen cleared his throat. "This is the first time Carolyn and Elizabeth met. It was 1992." The three were seated together at a restaurant table, Carolyn and Stephen on the one side, Elizabeth on the other. Carolyn was partly hidden behind Stephen; she seemed to be wearing a floral print dress. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was wearing a bright abstract print blazer over black pants; her hair was cut short and aggressively styled, tufted out in various directions.

"Carolyn and I moved to Port Charles in 1995. Elizabeth was in New York and we saw her more often. This is a photo from '96 or '97. She'd just started dating Alan then. This was taken when we went out for drinks after seeing a show in the city." In the photograph, Carolyn was much more visible. Her eyes were shut – she must have blinked at just the wrong moment. She was laughing. Her dark hair was longer than before and gathered back in a simple ponytail. She was dressed in a longer skirt and over-sized sweater, both tan. Robert thought again how much she reminded him of Anna. Elizabeth sat across from her, her blond hair no longer short. It was now below her shoulders and one length. She was wearing linen pants and a linen jacket, both a faded blue. She was smiling, but to Robert her expression seemed forced. Stephen and Alan looked into the camera, but Elizabeth's eyes were trained off slightly to the right.

"The next is the last photograph I have, and you've seen it before. It's the picture of Carolyn and Elizabeth when we were on vacation."

Robert looked at it again: the two women embracing, their long hair blowing in the wind, both in sun dresses, both tipsy and relaxed, both wearing exactly the same smile. When he'd first seen the picture, Robert had originally thought them opposites, distracted by the differences in height, body type, and colouring. He'd failed to notice the many, now disturbing, similarities between the two women. In hindsight, in some ways they seemed mirror images.

Robert cleared his throat. "It's odd," he remarked, making a careful attempt at nonchalance, "in the early photographs, Elizabeth and Carolyn seem to have very different sensibilities and styles. But in this photo, they have the same haircut and almost the same clothes."

Stephen smiled. "Yeah. Carolyn and I talked about it more than once, that Elizabeth had started wearing the same kinds of things and was letting her hair grow out. You have to understand: Carolyn prided herself on being less of a slave to fashion than Elizabeth was. Carolyn liked to be a bit unique, you know? She bought organic cotton, tried to buy fair trade stuff, that kind of thing. Then Elizabeth started doing the same. To be honest, Carolyn was a bit miffed, thought Elizabeth wasn't doing it because she'd suddenly developed a social conscience but for some other reason."

Stephen shifted in his seat. "But to be fair, I noticed other changes in Elizabeth. She became a bit less – how to say it – assertive. Or maybe aggressive is the better word. Anyway, she was nicer to everyone, more considerate. We got along a lot better, and at about the same time Elizabeth met Alan, who I thought was really good for her. So I told Carolyn that I thought she was being a bit petty, that she shouldn't be so resentful of the changes she saw in Elizabeth. In fact, I told Carolyn that I thought she'd been a good influence, that I was grateful to her for softening some of Elizabeth's hard edges. And I suggested that instead of being upset she should really be flattered. After all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right? "

Robert stared at the photograph. He suddenly noticed the necklace around Carolyn's neck. "Do you remember this piece of jewelry, Stephen? It's striking."

Stephen leaned over, looked. "I gave that to her for our second wedding anniversary."

Robert looked up. "Do you think I could keep this photograph for a few days?"

Stephen nodded again. "I won't ask you why. But I hope you can tell me soon."

* * *

><p>Images of the guests at the funeral began to flash up onto Anna's screen. She stretched her right shoulder up until she heard a crack, rounded her spine, and curled back into her chair. She scanned thumbnails of the photographs from left to right. Family, friends, work associates were all recorded for posterity gradually filing into the cathedral. Anna leaned forward, grabbed a cup of tea from her desk, settled back again and began to sip. She did a mild double-take: was that a reporter from the WLPC news? The woman looked familiar. Anna flagged the photo and continued scanning. She noted two of her own men entering the building, close friends of Dante Falconeri. Anna flagged the images; their attendance at the funeral of a mob boss, even for good reason, had to be noted in their files.<p>

More photographs. And then Anna's gaze froze on a single image. She clicked on the thumbnail, enlarged the picture. It was Giordano and Wu. Anna clicked off and looked at the entire sequence. Giordano and Wu approached the door to the cathedral and entered.

They'd been invited. Why in god's name had they been invited? What was their connection to Sonny Corinthos?

The first thing Anna did was pick up the office phone to order reinforcements dispatched to the cathedral, to the cemetery, and to the Metro Court.

The second thing Anna did was pick up her cell phone to call Robert.

* * *

><p>Stephen had left the bar; Robert sat alone staring at the picture of Elizabeth and Carolyn. Although fashion history was not his forte, he suspected that, previous to meeting Carolyn Thompson, Elizabeth had been a dedicated follower of cutting-edge fashion. After, she had patterned herself on a woman who avoided fashion trends – or rather, followed fashion trends other than the mainstream. And Elizabeth hadn't just dressed like Carolyn. She had taken on the other woman's personality, gestures, behaviours.<p>

Suddenly, at the exact same moment, two things happened. Robert's cell phone rang, and the door to the sports bar banged opened loudly. In an automatic response, drawn to identify the source of the louder sound, his eyes darted up; they locked on Elizabeth, who was standing and staring at him across the room. He then glanced down to the screen of his phone, moved to pick it up. Elizabeth sprang into action, strode across the room toward him, and ordered, "Let it go to voicemail, Robert. We have to talk."

"This might be an emergency." Robert took the phone in his hand. "If I don't answer, Anna will wonder why."

"I don't give a fuck," Elizabeth told him. She sat down in the chair opposite. "Why the hell haven't you been in touch with me since I gave you your file, and why did you meet with Stephen this afternoon? I thought I'd made myself clear: you need to back off, walk away, and let this case drop."

* * *

><p>Robert didn't answer his phone, and so Anna left a message. "Robert, Giordano and Wu are at the funeral. I'm sending more officers to the venues, but I really feel I need to be on-site. The service has already started; I'm heading to the cemetery, and after that I'll head to the Metro Court. I promise I'll keep a safe and respectful distance, but I think it's important that the two of them know they're being watched, and very carefully. If you decide to join me, call me before you approach." She paused. "And if you don't, if you can't, at least make sure you call me to let me know you're all right."<p>

Anna ended the call and began to suit up. She grabbed her holster and gun, forgot her vest, and was out the door.


	25. Chapter 25

The mourners were just arriving at the cemetery for the gravesite service. Anna had discreetly approached Dante to apologize for the increased police presence and to ask his permission to watch from a distance. Dante's expression for a moment suggested that he wanted to ask questions, to know why she was suddenly so concerned. Instead he merely nodded and turned away. He trusted her judgement.

Anna stood just off the road with two uniformed officers, politely distant from the small gathering. It was obvious that not all of the mourners from the cathedral had made their way to the gravesite; it was mainly close friends and family who slowly filled the seats clustered to one side of the open grave. The air was damp and close, the sky steel grey. Anna couldn't remember attending a funeral on a bright, warm, blue-sky day, and wondered how that could be. As she stood vigil in the cold, her hands thrust deep into her pockets, her scarf wound around her neck, she realized that the last funeral she'd attended had been her own daughter's. She pushed the memory away.

She pulled a gloved hand and her cell phone from the pocket of her coat. Still no call from Robert. She set the phone to vibrate, put it back in her pocket, and waited for the service to begin.

* * *

><p>Robert's cell phone was the on the table between him and Elizabeth. She was watching him carefully, had removed her coat, and seemed ready to settle in for a long conversation. The bartender walked over and asked, "Can I get you two anything?" Elizabeth smiled. "We'll have a pitcher, please. Whatever darker ale you have on tap. Something appropriate for the horrible weather."<p>

"I know, right?" the bartender laughed, shaking his head and walking away. "When the hell is spring going to start? Worst damned winter I can remember."

As the bartender poured their ale, Elizabeth placed her hands palms down on the table. She stood very still, steeling herself, Robert thought, for confrontation. The bartender came back with their pitcher, flipped down two paper coasters, and put two glasses on the table. "That'll be nine even," he announced.

Elizabeth pulled out a hundred dollar bill. "This seems to be the smallest I have." She cast her eyes down for a moment as if embarrassed. "Would you mind doing us a favour?" Her tone became confessional, and she looked at the bartender with such earnestness that even Robert wanted to believe her lie. "My friend and I haven't seen each other in quite a while. Do you think – would it be too much trouble – could you maybe give us a few moments here alone? A little bit of privacy? We promise we'll let you know if another customer comes in. We can knock on the door to the back room. What do you say?"

The bartender hesitated, looked at the bill, then back at Elizabeth. She flashed another smile. "If you don't mind me saying so, it doesn't seem very busy. It's not like you're going to lose out on tips because you neglected other customers."

The bartender laughed, took the money, and gave a little bow of thanks. He went up to the till, made change, and stuffed it in his pocket. He smiled at Elizabeth and gave her a subtle salute before he absented himself to the backroom.

Elizabeth immediately stood up, crossed to the front door, locked it, and flipped the sign to "CLOSED".

She walked back to the table. She grabbed Robert's cell phone and turned it off. "It's just you and me now, Scorpio. We can have this out once and for all." She picked up the pitcher and began to pour Robert a pint of the ale.

* * *

><p>Giordano and Wu never arrived at the cemetery. Anna wondered if they would make an appearance at the wake. She watched as the priest signaled for the pallbearers to lower the casket. Straps creaking under the strain, the coffin slowly disappeared past the lip of the freshly-dug grave. Olivia Falconeri was the first to bend down and grab a fistful of dirt. She let it fall after and onto the coffin, then turned and walked away.<p>

* * *

><p>Robert stared at Elizabeth across the table. "If that's what you want, it's fine with me. I've managed to put most of the pieces together."<p>

Elizabeth grinned. "I'm intrigued. What do you think you know?"

"I know you had your husband killed."

Elizabeth shrugged. "I admitted to that. It's inconsequential. Besides, I didn't have a direct hand in his death. It was arranged for me."

Robert didn't move. "By your father, who conspired with – or directed – the WSB. They honoured his request because of his importance to national security. All he had to do was call in a favour. Nothing surprises me about the agency I work for anymore. It's inherently corrupt."

Elizabeth laughed. "How does the saying go? 'If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem.'" She leaned forward on the table and aggressively toward him. "Weren't you yourself part of that problem, Robert? You killed people for the WSB, didn't you? Have you ever thought that maybe you killed one or two Alan Schabers yourself? Are you sure everyone you shot or poisoned or blew up or arranged to crash in an airplane or helicopter was an enemy of the state and not just an enemy of someone who worked for the state? Someone with a grudge and with seniority?"

Robert's gaze remained steady. "I didn't need you and your case to make me wonder about that. Even at the time I realized I might be committing murder, not serving my country."

Elizabeth leaned away again. "So why did you do it?"

Robert crossed his arms. "Initially to protect Anna. To keep her safe. So I did it for love."

Elizabeth grinned again. "Loving someone makes a person pathetically weak. Love was and still is your Achilles' heel, Robert. But I suppose you aren't unique in that. Many people become fools for love. In contrast, being loved puts one in an incredibly powerful position."

Robert smiled for the first time. "And that's what everything comes down to for you: power. That's why you wanted to become Anna. To disarm others, to have them in your control without them realizing it. And that's why you wanted to become Carolyn Thompson. To have others love you, trust you, like you. Because no one has ever loved you, trusted you, liked you as you truly are."

Elizabeth's grin became brittle. "Tell me more," she commanded.

* * *

><p>Anna was in the underground parking lot of the Metro Court. She pulled into a stall, put her car into park, and turned it off. She took out her cell phone. Still nothing from Robert.<p>

Where the hell was he? Why hadn't he contacted her? She decided to try again.

The call went immediately to voicemail. "Call me, Robert," Anna pleaded; "I'm worried about you." She hung up, threw her phone into her bag in frustration, and got out of the car.

* * *

><p>"The first time we met, Stephen told me he'd never been interested in you romantically but that he couldn't explain why. You're a stunning woman. It made me wonder."<p>

Elizabeth laughed harshly. "Did you ever think maybe he was lying? That he'd rewritten our history because his poor, saintly wife had disappeared and he felt guilt for his past feelings?"

Robert nodded. "Yes, I thought he might be lying then, and when he told me that Carolyn believed there'd never been anything between the two of you. He told me she'd never been jealous."

Elizabeth stopped smiling. "Of course she'd never been jealous. That woman didn't have a jealous bone in her body. She was perfect. Stephen's story has at least been consistent."

Robert leaned forward. "But what if he wasn't lying? What if Stephen was telling the truth?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "Go ahead and answer your own question if you like. For the sake of argument, I'll play along. As long as we don't confuse speculation with truth."

Robert continued. "Cards on the table, I'm strongly inclined to believe him."

"And why is that?"

"Because, you see, I'm a great admirer of female beauty. It wasn't meant as a compliment, but someone whose judgement I trust implicitly once described me as a 'swordsman extraordinaire.' Over the years my head's been turned by quite a few women. And I'm not easily put off." Robert frowned and leaned back again in his chair. "But you, my dear, you put me right off for some reason. You put my teeth on edge."

Elizabeth's expression was neutral. "Perhaps your reaction has something to do with your grand passion for Anna Devane."

Robert shook his head. "I don't think so. If I weren't with Anna you'd still give me the heebie-jeebies. The question is, why?"

* * *

><p>The reception had already started. It was an informal affair, a "come-and-go," and according to the uniformed officers positioned in the hallway, a number of guests had already come, paid their respects, and gone again. The family had just arrived from the gravesite service. Before he entered the ballroom, Dante stopped to talk to Anna, who'd just finished being briefed.<p>

"Do you want to tell me what's gotten you so worried, Commissioner?" he asked. "Should I be worried as well? Do you need me to look out for anything in particular?"

"You're not a detective tonight, Dante," she told him. "We have everything under control. I was a bit concerned when I noticed a few unexpected and surprising people on the guest list. I thought it wise to take precautions." Anna paused and moved in a bit closer. "On that subject, can you tell me who was responsible for the guest list? Who decided whom to invite to the funeral?"

Dante didn't bat an eye. "I can tell you that. I'm one of Sonny's executors. Alexis Davis gave us a list of names and addresses of people to contact, and we did."

"Do you know where Ms. Davis got that list?"

"She told us the list had been compiled and given to her by Sonny. She said they had a longstanding practice of reviewing his estate information every six months. He'd updated the list about three and a half months ago along with his will."

Anna frowned.

"Are you sure there isn't anything else I can help you with, Commissioner?"

Anna lightly touched Detective Falconeri's shoulder. "No, Dante. Go be with your family."

Dante turned and left. Anna considered the information he'd just told her. Anna would assume that any other mob lawyer could be bribed or bought, but not Alexis Davis. Her loyalty to Sonny had always been above reproach – if one didn't on principle reproach fidelity to organized criminals. Sonny himself had invited Gino Giordano or Mei Wu to his funeral.

Anna entered the ballroom and positioned herself at a table near the entrance.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth smiled. "I don't quite understand how the fact that you don't find me attractive is pertinent to our discussion. Please explain: what does your revulsion for me have to do with anything?"<p>

"Indulge me for a moment. I wonder, I just wonder if perhaps you don't have any idea how to act around and relate to other human beings. At least not unconsciously, innately. That night in the Metro Court bar you told me you emulate people consciously: you choose the people you pattern yourself on and imitate them deliberately. You're right that most people don't do that; they model themselves on others unintentionally, even involuntarily. Why don't you? Maybe you simply can't. You lack the instinct."

Elizabeth lifted her glass to her lips. "Are you suggesting that I'm a sociopath, Agent Scorpio?" She sipped her ale.

Robert shrugged. "Sociopath, psychopath. I don't appreciate the fine distinctions. As I understand it, we imitate others unconsciously in part because we have empathy. If one lacks empathy, which sociopaths and psychopaths do, one . . ."

". . . needs to imitate others consciously. And you think this applies to me. Fascinating. I would, of course, disagree. That I _choose_ to pattern my behaviour strategically doesn't mean I suffer from some sort of psychological pathology. And it doesn't mean I'm unable to empathize."

"And yet, for some reason you make my skin crawl. And you make others uncomfortable – except when you adopt the mannerisms of someone else and simulate her personality. I see the way men react to you when you're 'being' Anna. I'd react the same way if I didn't know you were playing a role. You met your husband when you first started 'being' Carolyn. Would he have loved you if you'd been yourself? How many other women and men have you performed 'being' over the years? How much success have you had making friends and influencing people when you haven't had someone to pattern yourself after?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "You're so naïve, so lacking in self-awareness. And you think you're better than me. It's laughable, really."

* * *

><p>At the wake, Duke had just finished a stilted conversation with the two gentlemen from New York he'd recognized at the cathedral. He hadn't seen them since 1988; they had once been part of Victor Jerome's organization but had parted ways with the family after the patriarch's death. Now minor henchman for another family allied with Corinthos, they had wanted to reminisce about the good old days under Victor, still remembered his relative kindness, his eagerness to reward loyalty, and his unwillingness to punish innocence. Duke hadn't wanted to take that trip down memory lane with them. Julian and Olivia Jerome had tainted everything, even the memory of a man who for a time had been like a father to Duke. He'd tried to be polite but extricated himself as quickly as possible from their company.<p>

He went in search of another drink. "Scotch, no ice," he informed the bartender. When he turned to leave, drink in hand, he froze: Gino Giordano had appeared behind him. "Hello, Mr. Lavery," Gino said, speaking low. "I bet you didn't expect me here. Could we speak for a moment somewhere private?"

Duke regained his composure and worked to hide his surprise. "Lead the way," he ordered Giordano, who smiled, turned, and headed for the back corner of the ballroom.

From her table near the door, Anna noticed their movement. She wondered why Giordano had approached Duke, and watched from a distance.

As they moved across the room, Giordano made small talk: it had been a lovely service, it was so sad for the family, but of course their business carried with it certain risks. Duke said nothing in response, merely listened. Once they reached their destination, Giordano turned to face him again.

"Isn't it ironic that the two of us are invited guests at the funeral of a man for whose death we are largely responsible? Why are you here, Mr. Lavery? Why were you on Sonny Corinthos' list of officially sanctioned mourners?"

Duke shrugged and sipped his drink. "All I can think is that my invitation was a professional courtesy. I wasn't, strictly speaking, Sonny's competitor, nor was I allied with any of his competitors – that is, until you came into town. The man I really hate is Julian Jerome – as I'm sure you're aware. I had nothing against Mr. Corinthos personally." Duke looked away from Giordano, not wanting his next remark to be read as a challenge. "I will agree that your presence here is ironic since, I assume, you arranged the hit on Sonny."

Giordano was still smiling. "You shouldn't assume anything, Mr. Lavery – it's above your pay grade. Don't think or speculate about it at all, understand? As a matter of fact, I'm an old and dear friend of Mr. Corinthos. I'm devastated by his death. After all, I left my beloved homeland for this godforsaken backwater to help Sonny take Julian Jerome down."

Duke began to feel very uncomfortable.

"I conspired with him to start up a club. It seemed the best way to draw Mr. Jerome out and, more importantly, to encourage him to act in a way certain to piss off a very powerful and dangerous person. Believe me, Mr. Lavery, you don't want to cross Mei Wu. Her nickname on the street is 'The Devil.'"

Duke tried with dignity to take a large swallow of scotch. "You were in league with Sonny Corinthos? Then why did he die?"

Giordano calmly sipped his red wine. "After you fed me with false information, you mean? Of course I knew that your story about Sonny and Jerome conspiring was false. I also knew that you knew nothing about my involvement. You weren't Sonny's partner; you were his patsy, Lavery. He was using you."

Duke drained his glass. "I'll repeat my question: why did Sonny die? Why did you kill him?"

Giordano shrugged. "I saw an opportunity. There's no honour among thieves. I decided to throw my hat in with Ms. Wu. It was the more lucrative option."

"And the more dangerous game."

"Granted, but no gains come without risk. And I can minimize the risk."

Duke flagged down a passing waiter and gave him his empty glass. When they were alone again, he said to Giordano, "Sonny was a risk, since he knew about the deal you made to bring Wu to Port Charles. And now that you've told me about your deal, I assume . . ."

". . . that you are also a risk. That's correct. But if it's any comfort, you always were, Mr. Lavery, since you and Sonny worked together to involve Wu and me in your club. I just thought you should know the whole story. I want you to know why."

"Why you're going to kill me?"

Giordano shook his head. "No, why you're going to leave town and never return. Please understand: I would happily kill you, but I don't want Anna Devane's grudge against me to become personal. I don't care about the police, but I'd prefer not to aggravate a former WSB agent. I propose you tell her immediately that you're leaving and then simply disappear. Tonight. Pick up right now and walk away."

Duke scowled. "And if I don't?"

Giordano finished his wine. "Then you're dead. And to prevent Ms. Devane from troubling me, I'll kill her too. Call it 'prudent risk management.'"

Giordano walked away, deposited his empty glass on a table, and strode toward the exit.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth's pint was gone; she refilled her glass. Robert's was still full.<p>

"When I found out you were responsible for your husband's death," he told her, "I immediately suspected you might have killed Carolyn as well. I have to confess that, although I'm confident you murdered her, I'm not entirely sure why."

Elizabeth no longer pretended that their conversation amused her. "And how do you know I killed her? Do you have any proof?"

Robert frowned. "I have a strong hunch, the fact that you tried to duplicate her life, and one piece of circumstantial evidence. Nothing I could take to court, of course. But it's enough for me."

"Let's start with the hunch. What makes you think I killed Carolyn?"

"Every murderer has a motive. You must have had a motive to kill your husband. What might it have been?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Boredom? Irritation? People have killed for far less."

Robert shook his head and smiled. "Yes, they've personally killed for less, but you had to persuade your father, had to solicit his help. Maybe he's the kind of man who would arrange a murder because his privileged daughter was simply bored or annoyed, but that seems unlikely. His motivation must have been stronger. I suspect he did what he did to protect you."

Elizabeth didn't blink. "From what?" she asked.

"I think Alan found out somehow that you killed Carolyn. Is that what happened?"

Elizabeth didn't say anything for a moment. Then she said, "That's a fascinating theory. Ludicrous but fascinating. Tell me more. For example, how might he have found out that I murdered her?"

"Maybe the same way I did." Robert reached for his phone, which was still sitting on the table. Elizabeth shot out one of her hands, covered it. Robert's hand froze, hovering over hers. "Please. This relates to the circumstantial evidence I mentioned earlier."

Elizabeth withdrew her hand and Robert picked up the phone. He brought up a picture and turned the screen to face her – the contents of her modest jewelry box.

"I'd like to draw your attention to the tastefully modest sunburst pendant in the top right corner of the photograph. Stephen gave it to Carolyn on their second anniversary. And now it's in your possession. What's the story, Elizabeth? Did Carolyn give you this cherished item? That seems unlikely. Did you realize what it was? Did you just like it? Was she wearing it when you killed her?"

Elizabeth was expressionless. "Maybe I bought a pendant just like hers. After all, according to your theory I was imitating everything she did. Maybe I went out and bought the same necklace."

Robert smiled. "Maybe you did. As I said, it's just one piece of very circumstantial evidence. Or maybe you took it from her neck after you murdered her."

"I'm a serial killer now, am I? I take souvenirs from my victims?"

Robert shook his head. "No. Serial killers take souvenirs to relive their murders. I suspect you don't give your victims a second thought. If you took the pendant, it's because you were still interested in being Carolyn. You probably took it on impulse. And of course you never suspected that you would get caught."

Elizabeth laughed. "Ridiculous."

* * *

><p>Anna watched Duke as he crossed the room and approached her table. He sat down and took her hand.<p>

"I want you to know that I was a fool," he told her. "You were right all along; I was being played."

Anna began to speak but he silenced her. "I told myself I was protecting you from Julian Jerome but I was really justifying my need for revenge. You didn't need protection then. But because of my stupidity you do now. I'm leaving town." Duke stood up.

Anna stood as well. "Did Giordano threaten you?"

Duke smiled.

"Are you in danger? Do we need to get you somewhere safe?"

Duke's expression didn't change.

"Will you let me protect you?"

Duke shook his head.

"Can I at least bring you somewhere? Will you let me help you get away?"

"It's better that we not spend time in private. You can't know – and he can't suspect that you know – anything more."

Anna nodded. Duke leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

"Be safe," she told him.

Duke turned. Before he moved away, he said in a soft voice, "Everything will be all right. I promise you that. I've made this mess and I'll do what I can to put things right." Then he walked out of the ballroom.

Anna pulled out her phone and contacted the plainclothes detectives outside the building. "Duke Lavery is leaving. Follow him and report where he goes," she commanded. She put on her coat, grabbed her bag, and went to get her car.

* * *

><p>Elizabeth's glass was empty again. She refilled it. "The only thing left to be determined in your imaginative little scenario is how and why I killed her. I can't wait to hear your theories, Agent Scorpio. Do tell."<p>

Robert crossed his arms. "I have no idea how you killed her, other than that you killed her yourself. Maybe you strangled her, hit her over the head, I don't know. But you didn't have an assassin's help."

Elizabeth nodded acquiescence. "All right, we'll let that go. But what about my motive? Why would I have killed her?"

Robert grew serious. "To be honest, I still don't know. For a while, I was completely off track. I thought perhaps that Carolyn and Alan were having an affair and that's the reason you killed both of them. After all, if Alan fell for your imitation of Carolyn, it seems more than possible that he would fall for Carolyn herself."

Elizabeth was unimpressed. "Clever, but I have to point out that _if _– please note my use of the conditional here – _if _I had imitated Carolyn, I would have perfected her. I would have out-Carolyned Carolyn. There's no way Alan would have chosen her over me."

Robert leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "You mentioned irritation and boredom as possible motives for murder. Maybe you were bored of being Carolyn? Maybe you were irritated by her goodness?"

Elizabeth was impassive. "That sounds more likely. At times I found her insipid and her actions contemptible."

Robert continued. "The murder could be your _modus operandi_. Maybe once you've perfected your imitation you do away with the original."

Elizabeth looked uninterested. "Again you're assuming that I'm a serial killer, although I've only admitted to having part in a single murder."

"Or maybe when you want to change your behaviour you need to free yourself by eliminating the prototype you've bound yourself to."

Elizabeth said nothing for a moment. Then her lips spread into a strange smile.

* * *

><p>Anna sat in her car waiting for the call. It came twenty-five minutes later. "Lavery left the Metro Court fifteen minutes ago with a suitcase." Anna realized he must have stopped at his suite to collect some clothing and his passport. "Now he's just pulled up at the Port Charles airport. What do you want us to do, Commissioner?"<p>

"Follow him in at a discreet distance and make sure he gets through security," she told the detective. "He may be in some danger. Stay close by until he gets away."

"Do you want us to alert airport staff and find out his destination?"

Anna suspected Duke would be travelling under a false name. "No. Under no circumstance. Mr. Lavery isn't suspected of a crime. Simply observe and intervene if he's threatened."

Anna hung up her phone. Suddenly she thought of Robert. She checked again for a message – nothing. Why hadn't he called? She had a very bad feeling.

* * *

><p>"Part of me feels sorry for you, Robert," Elizabeth told him. "You've tried so hard to understand. And I do admire your pluck."<p>

Robert bowed his head slightly to acknowledge the compliment.

"But I think you've overcomplicated everything with your wild theories. You've spent too much time as an agent and policeman, with your _modus operandi _and your circumstantial evidence. The truth might be much simpler. If I were you I wouldn't look for a grand pattern to my behaviour, for violent rituals I'm bound to repeat by some mental illness. I'm not an obsessive compulsive mass murderer."

Robert folded his hands on the table. "Why don't you help me simplify here. If you were me, what would you think might be the motive for Carolyn's murder?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes upward and frowned, making a show of contemplating the possibilities. "Well, if you're correct that I was imitating Carolyn consciously, and if I were somehow committed to following her example, I might have killed her if she did something I really didn't want to do myself."

Robert finally understood.

"Something like getting pregnant."

Before he could react, she'd picked up the empty glass pitcher and smashed it against the side of his head.


	26. Chapter 26

I'm sorry for the slow posting - sometimes life interferes. Thanks again to everyone who's continued reading! My goal is still to post at least once a week if I can.

* * *

><p>Anna was driving back to the police station when her phone finally rang. She pulled her car to the side of the road and answered without checking the caller i.d. "Robert?" she asked hopefully.<p>

"Commissioner." It was Rubin. "Where are you right now?"

"I'm on my way back to the office," she replied; "I'm maybe ten minutes away. I've left the reception but I think we should keep a couple of officers outside the door just in case . . ."

"Don't come here," Rubin told her. "You need to get to the hospital. You daughter is already en route. I think she's still his primary contact."

Anna became perfectly still. "Robert."

"He's in emergency. We got a 9-1-1 call from a hysterical bartender who'd seen some woman blindside him. He went straight down and hit his head pretty hard. Last I heard he hadn't regained consciousness."

Anna ended the call, threw her phone down on the passenger seat, pulled a u-turn and sped off, her heart pounding.

* * *

><p>Robin was waiting for her when she arrived. "How is he?" Anna asked her daughter, grabbing her shoulders. "Can I see him? How serious is it? What do you know?"<p>

Robin shook her head. "I don't know any more than you do. I just got here ten minutes ago."

"Where the hell was he? Who was he with?" Anna took a step away from her daughter, pushed the hair back from her forehead, ran her hand back over the top of her head, and began to pace. "He said he had some personal business to attend to, nothing dangerous. For god's sake, he had the nerve to tell _me _to be careful! Why didn't he ask for back-up? Why did he go solo? The stupid, _stupid_ stubborn man."

Robin shook her head again. "Honestly, Mom, I don't know anything. Rubin could tell you. They have an eyewitness at the station. I'm sure they're taking his statement."

"How long ago did he arrive at the hospital? When did all of this happen?"

"As far as I know, the ambulance was sent out about an hour ago. Someone called, didn't know who Dad was. When he got to the hospital they checked his i.d., called me, and informed the police. Then I guess Rubin called you."

Anna stopped pacing, frowned. "And no one has spoken to you yet about his condition."

Robin took her mother's hand. "Don't read anything into that. Doctors are careful with head trauma."

"Are the doctors aware that he's had previous concussions?" Anna asked. "And are they aware that he was in a year-long coma until only a few months ago?"

Robin nodded. "They'll be especially cautious given his history. I promise. It's all in his file."

Anna let her shoulders slump. "I've spent far too much time in hospitals worrying and wondering if your father will be all right."

Robin squeezed her mother's hand and drew her toward two chairs in the corner of the waiting room. "I know, Mom. I'm sorry. But he's going to be okay. This isn't as serious as the other times. I promise."

Anna lowered herself down into one of the chairs. Robin sat beside her. They waited. After a few minutes, Anna got up to pace again, but the space was small, and others were waiting for news of their own loved ones. She gradually became aware that her agitation was adding to their stress and sat down again.

Finally a young emergency room doctor – too young, Anna thought – came out to speak to them. "Dr. Scorpio," he nodded at Robin; "Commissioner Devane. I'm Dr. Roth. I've just finished evaluating Mr. Scorpio."

"Is he awake?" Anna asked. "Can we see him?"

Dr. Roth (how old _was_ he? twelve? he looked like he didn't even need to shave) shook his head. "No, he hasn't regained consciousness yet. But yes, you may see him. We've run a number of tests, including a CAT scan. We've seen nothing to alarm us. He should wake up soon. I can't tell you exactly when."

Anna stood up. "Take me to him."

Robin stood as well. "We'll both go in."

Dr. Roth smiled. "Of course. Follow me."

* * *

><p>Robin entered the room first; Anna hung back. When she finally forced herself to move through the doorway, her breath caught. Robert was on his back in the hospital bed, an i.v. in his left arm, a heart monitor by his side ("Just a precaution," Robin told her; "Nothing to worry about"). Anna was reminded of every hospital room in their history, every wrenching experience of Robert ill or injured, too quiet, too still: Robert poisoned, Robert almost killed by explosives in his office, Robert ravaged by infection after the removal of his cancer, Robert in a coma after being injected with propofol. Every single time she'd stood in the doorway of his hospital room, here in Port Charles or in Switzerland, and wondered how she could possibly go on if he died.<p>

Robin was already at his side. "Hey, Daddy," she said, taking his right hand. "We're finally here. You can wake up now."

Anna walked up beside her daughter. "Yes, we are; we're here. By your hospital bed. Again. It's getting a bit tiring, really." Anna stroked Robert's forehead.

He didn't move.

* * *

><p>Two hours later, Robin had left the room to call Patrick and give him an update on Robert's condition. Anna, seated, was leaned over, her cheek resting against Robert's hand. "Wake up, you bastard," she told him. "Now that our daughter's out of the room, I can be honest. I'm so angry with you for putting yourself in this position. What were you thinking? Not asking for back-up when you need it is the mark of a lousy agent. Your stupid ego, your over-confidence will be the death of you. And of me." She lifted her face, observed him closely.<p>

Robert didn't move.

"For god's sake, Robert, wake up. I'm not done with you yet. Come on, old friend." She squeezed his hand.

Nothing.

"Bobbie? Can you hear me? Open those big blue eyes for Annie." She smiled. "Come on, Bob-of-the-nine lives. Give me a sign."

Robert was still.

Anna grew exasperated and stood, taking a step back from the bed. "You know, I'm starting to regret choosing you over Duke. For all his faults, Duke's done everything in his power to be with me, to get back to me. You, on the other hand, seem always to be looking for a way out: getting ill, getting blown up, joining an assassination squad." She hit him lightly on the shoulder. "Damn it, Robert, you're staying with me this time. You hear me?" She paused. "You told me you wanted to."

At first, Robert didn't move. Then he slowly opened his eyes.

"Duke Lavery is a hairball of a man," he croaked, his throat dry. "And you have always had an abysmal bedside manner."

Anna smiled and took both his hands. "I knew that would rouse you. Welcome back." She kissed him lightly.

* * *

><p>When Robin returned, Anna met her outside Robert's door. "You go in and be with him," she instructed her daughter. "I need to call the station to get an update on the witness. Your father's still too weak for me to question him now; I want him to rest. Tell him I'll be back in a few minutes." Anna squeezed Robin's arm and walked down the hallway, pulling out her phone.<p>

Robin entered the hospital room. Robert's bed had been raised slightly; his eyes were open, and he looked more awake than she'd expected. He smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"You look pretty good for a man hit over the head and left to die," she told him. She walked over and gave him a hug.

"I'm glad to hear I look good. I feel pretty good too, considering. Though I'm a bit embarrassed. Your mother told me I'm a lousy agent, letting my guard down like that. She's right."

Robin sat on the side of his bed. "You know Mom – she's angry because she's worried. You scared her. You can't break her heart again, Dad, not even involuntarily. Make sure you give her at least a few good years before you die."

"Has she said anything about what happened?" Robert asked cautiously. "Does she know anything about the circumstances? Does she know who did this to me?"

Robin shook her head. "No. Not yet. But she just told me she was calling the station for an update. Because apparently you're too weak to answer her questions." Robin narrowed her eyes. "But you're not, are you? Too weak? You used that as an excuse. What's going on, Dad?"

Robert sighed and sagged slightly into the bed. "I need you to get some things for me before I tell your mother everything. First, I need you to get an envelope from my hotel room. The key should be with my personal possessions – the hospital has them somewhere; I don't know where. Just ask. You'll find the envelope taped to the bottom of the bathroom vanity. Not a terrific hiding place, I know, but my options were limited. Get it and bring it to me. But don't open it. Please. I promise you don't want to know what's in it. I wish your mother didn't need to know."

Robin nodded. "Of course I won't open it. You can trust me, Dad. I may have wanted to be a spy when I was young, but I have no interest now. I'll go right away."

Robert told her the second thing he wanted her to get him.

Robin lifted her eyebrows. "Really? What's this about?" Robert's expression became grimmer. "Okay, okay, I get it, I don't want to know. But you do remember that I was raised Catholic, right? Philomena brought me to church every week and I went to Sunday School. I'm familiar with the symbol." Robin looked hard at her father, and then softened. "I'll get it for you. But I can't get it tonight. I'll make arrangements tomorrow morning and bring it to you then."

* * *

><p>"Our witness is Bob Wiles, the bartender at McNally's Sports Bar. It's near the docks." Anna was speaking to her most senior detective, a man named Powell, 64 and months away from retirement. He reminded her a great deal of Guy Lewis, Robert's right-hand-man back-in-the-day: unflappable, dependable, loyal, with a dry sense of humour and a quick wit. "He says Robert met with another man at about 2:15; then, when their meeting was over, at maybe 3:30 – Mr. Wiles wasn't entirely sure – a woman walked in and sat down with Robert. She made it seem like they were old friends, or maybe even something more. Anyway, she ordered a pitcher of beer for them to share. Then she asked the bartender to give them some privacy. So he went to the back room."<p>

Anna frowned. "Mr Wiles seems a very trusting man."

"I pressed him on that," Powell agreed, "and he admitted the lady offered him an excellent tip. There was no one else in the bar, so he thought no harm, no foul."

"Then what happened? You said Wiles was a witness. How did he see what took place if he wasn't even in the room?"

"It seems that the owner of the bar recently invested in a security system – cameras , monitors, the whole nine yards. Mr. Wiles went to the back, busied himself with a few chores, and watched Robert and the woman on the screen. They talked for quite a long time. The conversation seemed friendly enough, according to the bartender. And then the woman picked up the almost-empty pitcher of beer and slammed it into the side of Robert's head. He went straight down, hit his head again on the floor. Mr. Wiles says it took him a moment to react – he was understandably shocked. Then he saw the woman pick up a big piece of glass – he didn't know what she was going to do with it, worried she was going to use it to cut Robert's throat or something – so he ran out, grabbed a baseball bat he keeps under the bar, and shouted for the woman to step away. She did, dropped the glass, and calmly left the building. Wiles ran over, checked for a pulse, and called for an ambulance. Unfortunately none of this was caught on video – the bartender had turned off the recording system on account of the fact the bar was almost empty. He wasn't expecting trouble."

"What kind of sports bar serves beer in glass pitchers? Aren't they usually plastic?"

Powell laughed. "I didn't think you frequented these kinds of places, Commissioner. You're absolutely right. Plastic is much safer around drunken and jubilant, or angry and despondent, sports fans. But one of their customers – some hoity toity type – insists on a glass pitcher, and because they know him and trust him, they keep one at the ready. Robert and the lady were the only two in the bar. They weren't tipsy, and the lady at least seemed refined, so Wiles decided to class things up a bit."

"His description seems awfully detailed. Why was he watching them so carefully? I thought you said he went back and did some work while they were talking. Is he credible?"

"Great minds think alike," Powell replied. "I wondered the same thing and asked him if he'd actually seen the woman hit Robert or if he just assumed she had when he heard the noise and saw the aftermath on the screen. He assured me that he'd seen the actual attack, that he'd seen _everything_." Powell cleared his throat. "Commissioner, I don't want to get Robert in trouble. I like the guy a lot. But you're my superior officer, and I have to report everything the witness said. It took a bit of pressing, but Wiles told me that he was watching the monitor really carefully because – well, because the woman had kind of suggested that she and Robert wanted to be alone so that they could be a bit more, I don't know how to say this, 'friendly.' 'Comfortable' maybe. 'Intimate'."

Anna's eyebrows furrowed. "He was watching them closely because he thought they were going to have sex in the bar?"

Powell cleared his throat. "Well, yes. To put it bluntly. If it makes you feel better, I don't think Wiles was interested in watching Robert. He was more interested in the lady."

Anna's expression became neutral. "Yes, Powell, that makes me feel so much better."

"In Robert's defense, Wiles said the lady was an absolute knockout. For an older woman." Powell realized he was digging himself an enormous hole. "Not that older women aren't attractive." More stumbling. "And not that it would make any kind of, I don't know, 'encounter' between Agent Scorpio and this woman excusable …."

Anna paused before she spoke. "Are you quite done?"

"Yes, completely," Powell answered quickly. "Anyway, we have a description of the woman and we're trying to i.d. her as we speak."

"I'll save you the trouble," Anna sighed. "Her name is Elizabeth Beaty – last known address, the penthouse suite of the Metro Court Hotel. But I'm sure you'll find she packed her bags and left hours ago. And unfortunately she has the money needed to disappear completely. I'm sure we're already too late. Check it out, of course, and inquire whether she's flown out of Port Charles using her own name. I doubt she would be that stupid, but we need to dot our i's and cross our t's."

Anna ended the call. Powell, seated at his desk, hung up the phone. He felt sorry for Scorpio. The Commissioner had apparently already known about the other woman, even knew her name. Robert was in for it now.

* * *

><p>Anna pushed open the door to Robert's room. He was still awake, but when he saw her, his eyes half closed – probably from the pain, Anna thought. He'd been putting on a brave face for Robin. Now he needed to sleep.<p>

She walked up to her daughter, gave her a hug. "You should go home to Patrick and Emma," Anna told her. "Everything's under control here."

Robin stood. "Okay. Make sure to call me if you need anything – either or both of you." She hugged her father. "I'll bring what you asked for tomorrow morning," she promised. "Take care of yourself. Listen to the doctors and the nurses. And, more important, listen to Mom."

Robin left. Anna looked at Robert quizzically. "What did you ask her to bring?"

Robert smiled wearily. "Just a few personal things."

Anna took his hand and sat down on the bed. "You could have asked me. I may not be your emergency contact, but I am capable of picking up your slippers, robe and shaving kit. They're all at my apartment anyway. Do you have _anything_ left in your hotel room?"

Robert grimaced. "Just a few things. Robin's getting them for me. And about the emergency contact list – consider yourself added. It was just an oversight. I wasn't expecting to be back in hospital so soon."

Anna leaned over and kissed him. She pulled back slightly. "Elizabeth Beaty did this to you, Robert, didn't she? Are you going to tell me why?"

Robert closed his eyes. "Tomorrow. I promise. But right now I need to rest. You should too. You should go home. I'll see you in the morning."

Anna settled back into the chair. "I'm afraid I'm not leaving." Robert opened his eyes again and looked at her. She unbuttoned her blazer, showed him her holster, and smiled. "I'm your bodyguard tonight. There's a uniform outside, but I don't entirely trust him. He's good, but I'm better. So I'm sticking around, at least until we find Ms. Beaty."

Robert closed his eyes again. "You're not 'better', you're the best. But I'm afraid you'll never catch her."

"I know," Anna agreed. "I guess that means you're stuck with me for a really, really long time."

* * *

><p>After Robert fell asleep, Anna watched for a while, then allowed herself to doze lightly, confident she would wake at any strange noise, her senses on high alert. She flitted in and out of consciousness and snippets of dreams, some pleasant, some disturbing, some involving Robert, while in others she was alone. In one particularly upsetting fragment, the sun was setting; she was in a strange city; her holster was empty; she had no other weapon and knew she was being stalked. She knew she had to find someone, had to save someone, but she didn't know who, didn't know where to start, where she needed to go. In another, she and Robert were sitting on a beach; he was trying to say something to her but the waves were crashing against the shore and she couldn't hear him. She leaned in, called out to him, but he just smiled and kept on talking. In the last dream that she remembered, a baby was crying – maybe Robin, maybe Emma – and Anna couldn't move. She wanted to scream for help but couldn't. The crying continued.<p>

* * *

><p>Hours later, Anna jolted awake. The door to the room had opened, and she'd pulled her gun part way out of its holster before noticing the smiling candy striper standing across the room with Robert's tray. "Breakfast," the young woman announced cheerily, blissfully unaware of any danger. Anna holstered her gun, heart thudding, and smiled back. "Hello," she said, slightly disoriented, one hand reaching up to straighten and smooth her hair. "I think he's still asleep."<p>

She looked over at Robert, who was wide awake and watching her. "Good morning, Sunshine. You seem a bit edgy. Anything wrong?"

The candy striper put the tray on Robert's side table. "There you go – oatmeal, applesauce, coffee, and orange juice." Robert looked at the breakfast without appetite. "Eat it up," she told him brightly. "It will give you energy." She smiled again at Anna and left the room.

Robert looked after her. "Unbelievable. Did you notice she was flirting with me shamelessly? And with you in the room. Terribly unprofessional."

Anna rose painfully from the chair, stretched to one side, then the other. "I hate to burst your bubble, Robert, but she wasn't flirting with you. That girl is twenty if she's a day. She was speaking to you the way she'd speak to her grandfather – a bit too loudly and slowly, as though she expected you to be hard of hearing. She was exhibiting a grandchild-like care and concern for you, not lust. Trust me on this."

"Ah, but that remark about the food giving me energy? Energy for what, I ask?" Robert winked. Then he turned his attention to the breakfast laid out before him. He steeled his nerves, took a wary sip of coffee, grimaced, spat it back in the cup. "For god's sake," he moaned, "that's atrocious." Next he unpacked his cutlery, inserted the spoon into his oatmeal. He removed his hand; the spoon stood straight up. "Dear, if you want to protect my life, you really should pick up something for me from Kelly's.

"Same old Robert," Anna grumbled under her breath. Then, louder: "I'll get you something later, I promise. First let me check on the changing of the guard outside. I want to see who's been assigned, see if I can trust him."

Anna gave Robert a kiss, left him picking at his breakfast, and went out into the hall. The assigned officer was Russell – good, Anna thought; she liked and trusted her. Anna quickly checked her watch. It was later than she'd thought, almost 9:30. She'd search out a washroom first and make herself feel more human, make a call to the station, and then try to speak to Robert's doctor. She wanted to know when she could get him out of the hospital and into some place more secure. After, if everything seemed quiet and she was confident that he would be safe while she was out of the building, she'd go and buy him something to eat, the fussy bastard. If he needed home care, she told herself, she'd learn from past mistakes and pay someone else to put up with his nonsense. She headed off, charged with purpose.

* * *

><p>Robin arrived just after 11:00 with everything Robert had asked for tucked into in a reusable shopping bag. "Not very chic," she admitted, "but I thought it would look less suspicious than a briefcase handcuffed to my wrist. I didn't want anyone to think I was carrying something they might want to steal."<p>

Robert smiled wanly. "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. That's my girl. Sly as a fox. Promise you'll still love me tomorrow?"

Robin put the bag beside Robert's lap. "I'll love you forever." She looked carefully at his expression. "Are you all right, Dad? You look sick – or worried."

Robert pointed to his cheek. "Peck for your old dad?" he asked. She kissed him, stood back up. He cleared his throat. "To be completely honest, I'm scared out of my skin, Sweetheart."

Robin was puzzled. "Of the woman who tried to kill you? Do you need more guards, Dad?"

Robert shook his head. "No. Of owning up to past mistakes, and of their consequences. But I will, and I'll face up to everything. I don't have a choice anymore."

* * *

><p>When Anna returned, it was with a large bag of take-out. It was almost 11:30 – too late for breakfast anyway, so she'd picked up Chinese, everything Robert especially liked.<p>

"Lunch is served," she announced as she entered the hospital room. Robert was sitting up, shaved, hair combed, in his robe, waiting for her. Something in his expression and body language stopped her cold.

"Robert? What's wrong?"

"Tell the guard not to let anyone disturb us for the next half hour," he ordered. Anna didn't argue, did as she was told, and came back into the room. "Now come here, Luv. We need to talk."

Anna lifted the bag. "You don't want to eat?"

Robert stretched his hand out to her. "I don't have much of an appetite at the moment. I need to get a few things off my chest."

Anna slowly walked toward him. She put the bag of take-out at the foot of the bed, came up, and sat down beside him. "About Elizabeth? About the Thompson case?"

"Yes." Robert looked at her steadily. "And about us. About what happened after we escaped from Faison back in 1992."

Anna looked confused. "How are the two things related, Robert?"

"First things first," he told her. "Open the side drawer of the bed table." Anna did. She found a cloth bag there – it was heavy. She put it on the bed beside them and opened it up.

Coins. Anna didn't count but assumed there were thirty. She felt her hands break into a cold sweat.

"What is this, Robert?" she asked.

"You know what it is. An acknowledgement of guilt. A plea for forgiveness. A final reckoning. Any of the above, and all three. It'll make sense once you read this." He picked the file up off his tray table. "I just hope you can forgive me."


	27. Chapter 27

Anna was almost finished skimming through the file when she looked up. "Why am I alive, Robert? It's not because you agreed to work for the WSB again. They intended to kill me all along. Why am I not dead?"

Robert shook his head. "I don't know. They were waiting for something."

Anna flipped back in the file. "Were they using me as bait? Did they know that Faison had survived the explosion? Were they hoping he would try to get me back?"

"I don't know. They told me he was alive and that he was free. They promised me they'd give me the assignment to kill him. But I don't know if they actually believed any of what they said."

"They were waiting for delivery of something. Maybe they'd asked for some kind of ransom. Maybe they'd offered me to him in exchange for something. Once they got it, they were going to kill me."

Robert looked away.

"Did they receive the delivery? What happened after? If they didn't receive it – hell, even if they did – why not kill me? It's not like I was capable of offering resistance. How did I get away?"

Robert's voice was flat. "Later they told me you'd been taken by a doctor. They didn't know where." He hesitated. "Or why."

Anna knew Robert was holding something back but didn't press.

"Why the thirty pieces, Robert? How do you think you betrayed me?"

Robert's eyes were turned from hers; he wouldn't meet her gaze. "Initially I believed them. I didn't insist on being taken to you, on seeing you. They told me they would take care of you. Then, once I realized they were lying, I didn't leave. I didn't try to find you. I didn't try to save you."

Anna stood and moved from the chair to Robert's bed. She stooped, tried to force him to look at her. "Why didn't you, Robert? _Why_ didn't you try to find me?"

Robert looked at her helplessly. "I don't know."

Anna's expression was hard. "Yes you do, Robert. Why didn't you try to find me? Tell me."

Robert's mouth twisted slightly. His eyes narrowed. "I don't know. I was a coward."

Anna moved her hands, cupped Robert's face. Her voice was soft. "Robert, I know why you didn't look for me. I can tell you." She smiled sadly. "You didn't look for me because you thought I was dead. You thought they'd lied to you when they told you I was alive. You believed I'd died in the explosion."

Robert's breath hitched. When he spoke, his voice cracked. "I didn't want to _know_. I wanted to _believe_. I wanted to believe that what they said was true."

Anna took his hands. "But on some level you didn't. You were afraid you'd find out I was gone. You thought it was better to believe I was alive somewhere."

Robert's face hardened again. "The thing is, you were. And because I was too afraid to find out the truth, you suffered. God knows who took you from the WSB and why. God knows what happened to you those first six months, that first year. I'm responsible for all of that."

Anna sat on the bed, put her hands in her lap. "Robert, when I regained my memories of you, and in particular when I remembered your death, I was devastated. Someone close to me pointed out that if I'd survived the explosion, you might have as well. I dismissed the possibility. I said I'd seen you die, that you were closer to the explosives, that you couldn't possibly be alive. But you were."

"I don't see the comparison."

Anna looked away. "When did you find out I was alive, Robert? When did you know? Can you remember?"

"I was in Rotterdam. I was on assignment, a follow-up consultation with researchers at Erasmus University, the year after the SARS outbreak. While I was there I met up with an old contact from the WSB. Carter. Do you remember him? The kid with the glasses? He's not a kid anymore. Anyway, he mentioned you, your remarkable resurrection, as though he expected I already knew. I kept it together, made it seem as if I wasn't surprised, as if I wasn't completely staggered. I spent the next few weeks finding out everything I could."

"What year was this? 2005?"

"2004. May 2, 2004."

Anna looked up and back into Robert's eyes. "I regained my memories in 2001. If I had looked for you in 2001, tried to confirm your death instead of doing everything I could not to confront it, I might have found you. I might have saved you three years of suffering. But I didn't. I was too much of a coward. I wanted to run away from the memories and from what I thought was the reality of your death. So you see I'm guilty of pretty much the same thing you feel you are. Back in Bay C all those years ago, we accepted a shared responsibility for the Swede's alleged death. Now, if there's any guilt to be acknowledged, any betrayal to be confessed, it's mutual again. We're both guilty of abandoning the other. But not because we didn't care. We let each other go because we couldn't face the other's loss. If that makes any sense at all."

Anna's phone rang. "Sorry, I have to take this," she told Robert and stood, walked away from the bed. "Devane."

Robert didn't hear any of the telephone conversation. He was staring at the bag of coins on the bed, at the file Anna had replaced on his tray table.

"I have to go, Robert." His attention drifted back from the past to the present. "I'm sorry, but Powell thinks he's found Elizabeth's contrail. I want to go speak with him, find out where our Ms. Beaty escaped to."

Robert nodded. "It's fine. I've confessed what I needed to."

Anna grabbed her bag and prepared to leave. Then she stopped. "_Why_ did you confess this to me? Why now, after all these years? Why did you show me the file?"

Robert felt drained of energy. "Elizabeth was blackmailing me. She had my file, she threatened to tell you everything." And worse. Robert thought about Anna's file. Elizabeth still had that in her possession.

"Why was she blackmailing you, Robert? Did she want money?"

"No. She killed Carolyn Thompson. And she was complicit in the death of her husband."

Anna took a step toward Robert's bed. "Should I try to get a warrant for her arrest on more than aggravated assault? Should I go to Baldwin and try to get a murder charge against her?"

Robert shook his head. "I don't have evidence that would stand up in court. What little I have was gathered without a search warrant. We have nothing against her."

Anna looked torn. "Damn it, Robert, I have to go. We'll talk about this later, right? I want to know everything you know. No more secrets."

Robert nodded. Anna turned to leave, then stopped. She turned back, removed her gun from her holster, and handed it to him.

"This is completely against protocol, of course," she said. "Keep it well hidden. Don't let anyone know you have it."

"Don't you need it?" Robert asked.

"Powell's coming to pick me up. He has a firearm. Don't worry about me."

She walked out of the room.

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, Anna and Powell were pulling up to the Port Charles airport. Powell was describing how he'd discovered Elizabeth's means of escape. "Taking into consideration when Robert was attacked," he explained, "we identified four flights out of the city that she might have boarded. They were small commuter flights – all travelling to major centres, all with small manifests. We pulled up the government issued i.d. of all the female passengers born in the same year as Elizabeth Beaty – and those born up to fifteen years later, given the witness description. Then we looked at the photos. We didn't think we'd get a hit, thought most likely some hack had inserted her picture in a stolen document, but Beaty's photo came up in an actual passport issued to a 'Marion Wiles'. The passport's completely legit."<p>

"Which means Ms. Beaty has friends in high places."

"Well," Powell qualified, "she at least has 'friends' in the passport office. Money can buy you that kind of thing, unfortunately. And you know, if she has one alias, she likely has others."

"Where did she fly?"

"New York. JFK."

"Shit," Anna exclaimed. "Hundreds of flights to check. She could be anywhere by now – New York, somewhere else in the States, anywhere in the world. What do we do next?"

Powell pulled into a space just outside the terminal. He put the car in park and turned it off. "What about asking the FBI for assistance? What about facial recognition software? Could they check their passport directory for Beaty's photograph? Can't they do that kind of thing nowadays?"

Anna scowled. "They can, but I'd bet money it wouldn't work. Beaty didn't pay off some poor clerical worker to make a false passport. She was issued one legitimately, and I suspect her photos have been altered just enough to fool the software. Her pictures will look enough like her to get her on the plane when she presents i.d. but won't code as identical or even similar to one another when analysed by a computer. The spy game would have been over a long time ago if software like that couldn't be fooled."

Powell started. "Elizabeth Beaty is a spy?"

"No. Not a spy. But as I said, she has friends in high places. It's better that you don't know everything." Anna removed her seatbelt. "Let's go ask a few questions, confirm that Elizabeth got on that plane. If she did, I haven't a clue what our next move should be."

She and Powell got out of the car and headed into the terminal.

* * *

><p>There was a soft knock at the door of Robert's hospital room. It opened slightly and Robin peaked in. "You're awake."<p>

Robert forced himself to smile. "Couldn't sleep if I wanted to – splitting headache."

Robin walked up to his bed. She had two cups of coffee in her hands. "Here you go," she said; "the good stuff from Kelly's. You'll probably have that headache for a few more days. When was the last time they gave you something for it?"

"I don't know," Robert shrugged, taking the coffee and popping open the lid. "I took some kind of pill first thing this morning."

Dr. Scorpio-Drake wasn't amused. "Good grief, Dad, they should be monitoring your pain a bit more closely. Let me go speak to the nurse."

Robert grabbed her hand to prevent her from leaving. "No – it's probably just a caffeine headache. The coffee will take care of it."

Robin cocked her head to the side. "Have you eaten anything today? I mean, really eaten anything?" She noticed the take-out bag at the end of the bed. "What's this?"

Robert suddenly remembered. "Oh. Your mother brought that about an hour ago. I guess we forgot about it."

Robin's face expressed surprise, but she thought better than to ask why the food sat untouched. Her parents had either argued or had sex; Robin wanted to know neither. She opened the bag, unpacked a few of the boxes. "It's all in styrofoam. It still feels pretty warm. Why don't you eat something?"

Robert felt his stomach rumble; the smell was making him hungry. He hadn't eaten anything really since lunch the previous day. "Sure. Maybe a bit."

Robin handed him a container and a broke apart a pair of chopsticks for him. "Here. Eat something. I'm going to go scare up a painkiller for you and see if I can get an update from your doctor."

Robin left and Robert ate.

* * *

><p>Anna and Powell spoke to three airline workers who remembered Elizabeth – Marian – buying a ticket, checking her bag, and boarding the plane. Thank god that woman is so striking, Anna thought. Elizabeth had certainly left town. Anna hoped this meant Robert was out of immediate danger.<p>

Where she'd gone once she'd reached New York was anyone's guess. It was easier to speculate who had helped her get away, who had supplied her with the false i.d. Anna determined to find out more about Elizabeth's mysterious father and his connection to the WSB.

* * *

><p>When Robin returned, Robert had already finished off a box of fried rice and had started in on a container of beef with oyster sauce. Robin handed him a pill. "Don't be a hero, Dad. Take something for the pain. You'll be getting a bottle of these to take home."<p>

"And when will that be?" Robert asked.

"Later today, apparently. The doctors agree you're out of danger. You managed to squeak out of this with nothing more than a mild-ish concussion."

"Lucky me."

Robin smiled. "I've been thinking, why don't you come to stay with Patrick, Emma, and me? Mom seems pretty busy right now – she can't spend all her time taking care of you. I'm not back at work yet so I can hang out. And you'll of course be really safe, living with two doctors. We can keep a careful eye on your condition."

Robert shook his head. "Thanks for the offer, but no. I might be safe, but you wouldn't be."

Robin sat down in the chair next to Robert's bed. "What's going on, Dad? Who was this woman who attacked you?"

Robert sighed. "I've stumbled into something I'd rather you stayed clear of. I'll go back to my hotel room."

"Oh no you won't," Robin told him. "You can't be alone. Someone has to watch you. Just in case. We think you're out of the woods, but there's a slight chance you could still develop a bleed. Someone has to monitor you."

Neither of them had noticed Anna open the door. "That would be me, unfortunately." She sighed and walked toward the bed. "I'll monitor him. At least for the first twenty-four hours. After that, if he still needs to be watched, I'm paying for a home care nurse who's also an ex-navy seal."

* * *

><p>By late afternoon, Robert was back at Anna's apartment and settled into her favourite chair by the window. Anna had already filled him in on her and Powell's discovery that Elizabeth had left town, which hadn't actually surprised him. A cup of tea steamed on the table; Anna, seated on the chesterfield, held her own cup. She'd reclaimed her gun from Robert; it was resting on the side table within easy reach.<p>

Robert picked up his cup, took a tentative sip. "You know, I'd really rather have a glass of wine," he remarked.

"Not while you're on your pain meds," Anna answered. "We're both teetotallers until you're fit again."

An uneasy silence fell over the room. Robert put down his cup again. The sound of china clinking on china was somehow deafening in the quiet.

Anna cleared her throat. "Are you going to make me ask, Robert? Or are you going to talk to me about the case? How do you know Elizabeth killed Carolyn Thompson? What was her motive?"

Robert looked at her, hesitated. Then he began to tell her (almost) everything: the meaning of the alias Jerry Hallam, Robert's confrontation with Elizabeth the night of the club opening, her threats, the starburst jewelry, the photographs. Anna listened in silence. When Robert was finished, she was quiet, thoughtful.

"Elizabeth blackmailed you with your file," she noted. "Is that all? There's really not much in there, Robert. I wish you had trusted me, told me everything from the start. Does she have something more? Something I should know about?"

Robert hesitated again. He didn't want to tell her but decided he should. "She has your WSB file as well. She knows the truth about your missing months – the time you spent as Faison's prisoner, the time after the explosion when the WSB held you captive, and, I assume anyway, the time after that. Who took you and why."

"Did she let slip anything about the contents of the file?"

Robert shook his head. "No, nothing. All she said was that I wouldn't want you to know what you suffered on account of me. On account of me trusting you to the WSB. She suggested that something happened you might not forgive me for."

Anna pulled her legs up and hugged her knees to her chest. "This woman knows far too much about us, Robert. How do we get out from under her thumb?"

Robert said nothing. He was at a loss. "I haven't quite worked that one out yet, Luv."

* * *

><p>By 9:00, Robert was in bed and exhausted. Anna was tired too – makeup off, night clothes and dressing gown on, she emerged from the en suite, smiled, walked up to the bed and gave Robert a chaste kiss. She reached over to grab her pillow and hugged it to her chest.<p>

"What are you doing?" Robert asked.

"It's a bit silly," she laughed wearily, "but I have trouble sleeping with a different pillow. Besides, this case is silk; it leaves fewer pillow scars. I like sleeping on my stomach now and then, but it's murder on the skin."

"No," Robert looked lost; "why are you taking your pillow? Why aren't you getting into bed?"

Anna cleared her throat. "I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight."

Robert made a pleading gesture with his hands. "Why? Stay with me. Are you upset about what I told you?"

Anna shook her head, smiled. "No, Robert; I'm not angry with you." She looked uncomfortable. "Remember, I gave Patrick a black eye only two nights ago. I don't want to hurt you. You need another blow to the head . . ."

". . . like I need a blow to the head," he finished for her. "Don't worry about me. I know how to handle you."

Anna smiled wider. "Yes you do, when you're in top form. But right now you're not, and I'm not taking any chances." She grew serious. "I promise you, Robert, it won't go on forever. I'm handling it. The dreams will end soon, I promise."

As she left the bedroom, she closed the door softly behind her.


	28. Chapter 28

For the second night in a row, Anna slept poorly. Although she didn't want to be in the same room as Robert, in case she had another nightmare, she woke repeatedly with the irresistible urge to check that he was still breathing. Almost every hour she started awake, tiptoed down the hallway, opened the bedroom door as delicately as possible, and stole beside him, hunched down, stared into his face, watched the rise and fall of the blankets as he breathed. He never woke up, which concerned her (her sleep-deprived brain wondered and worried if he'd slipped into a coma – it had happened before). But his colour looked good. He looked peaceful. Anna tried to persuade herself that everything was fine.

The last time she woke it was just after 5:00. No point going back to bed, she thought. She made herself coffee and sat in the living room looking out of the window at the water. In all the excitement and stress, she'd almost forgotten the appointment she'd made with Siobhain McLean for that morning. Anna felt a flutter in her chest and realized she was afraid.

She watched the sun rise before reluctantly starting her day. After showering, she entered the bedroom again and sat on the edge of the bed. Robert was still asleep. She knew she should leave him undisturbed but she needed to know he was okay, couldn't help herself: she reached out and stroked his cheek. His eyes flickered open.

"Good morning," she smiled. "How are you feeling?"

Robert rolled onto his back and stretched. "Better. Much, much better."

"Your headache's gone?" Anna asked.

Robert looked up at her. "No. I still have a headache. But I don't have any more secrets. And I still have you – you're still here with me. Except for the headache, I haven't felt this good in ages."

Anna leaned over and kissed him. "It's early, and I'm sorry, but if you're able, I think you should get up. I have to go out for a while, and I don't like to leave you sleeping and completely vulnerable. Can you manage being up and awake for a few hours? When I get back you can have a nap."

Robert smiled. "I feel fit as a fiddle. If you put me in the easy chair with a pot of coffee on the table beside me, I'll be perfectly fine. You don't have to worry."

She helped him up. Aside from some initial wooziness as she walked him to the bathroom, he really did seem and look much better. By the time she was ready to leave, she felt much easier about him. But Robert picked up on her other anxiety and misread it.

"Good grief," he exclaimed; "I'll be fine. Stop worrying about me and get out of here. You're acting like a mother hen."

Anna smiled. "I'll be gone two hours, max. Don't fall asleep. There's a guard outside. Call me if you need anything. My phone will be off for about an hour, but I'll check my messages when I can."

* * *

><p>"I told you, Robert Scorpio knows about Alan. And worse, he knows about Carolyn." Her voice was whinging, shrill. "I need you to take care of it. If you won't, I will. And who knows what kind of trouble I might get myself into. I'm not a professional killer, like your friends."<p>

"But what can he _prove_? What evidence does he have? I don't care what he knows; I need you to tell me if he's a threat. I'm not putting out a hit on Robert Scorpio."

"How do I know what he can prove?" Elizabeth almost screamed into the phone, her tone and (he suspected, though he couldn't see it) body language that of a hysterical thirteen year old. "What does it matter? He's a threat. You've helped me before."

Fifty floors up, in a penthouse office suite overlooking Victoria Harbour, he was staring out the window behind his massive desk. His eyes were tired. He rubbed them with one hand. "It matters, Sweetheart. It matters to me. I know you're unhappy, but you shouldn't overreact. I've been kept informed. The only warrant for your arrest is for assault – a silly move on your part, if you don't mind me saying so. Why didn't you just walk away from this man? You let him get under your skin."

Angry silence followed.

He sighed. "I've already helped you. I gave you the files you asked for. You wanted to study them, use them to understand your enemy. And worse-case-scenario, you were going to use them to broker some sort of deal if you were cornered."

Nothing – no sound. He knew Elizabeth was vibrating with rage wherever she was.

"What is the status of the files, Betty? Does Scorpio know about them? Does he know what's in them?"

No response.

He'd of course copied and read the files carefully before handing them over, never naïvely trusting what Elizabeth told him, her inevitably tainted and biased version of events. "I guess I have no choice. I'll take care of it. You stay where you are and don't use your real name."

"What does that mean, 'I'll take care of it'?" she demanded. "You need to be straight with me. Because I'm telling you he won't let it drop. He'll try to blackmail me. He knows I'm rich. Or worse, he'll try to kill me. He might, you know, if he thinks I should be punished. He was one of your hired assassins. Human life means nothing to him."

He felt his jaw clench. Carolyn Thompson. Alan Schaber. "Not one of _my_ hired assassins," he corrected her. "Robert Scorpio worked for the WSB."

"Which has been and still is in your back pocket."

He knew he'd pay for what he was about to say but couldn't help it. "Tell me, Elizabeth. Had Alan really found out that you'd killed your friend Carolyn? Was any of what you told me true? Was he really blackmailing you? Did he have proof? Or did you play me to get rid of him? Was he a threat? Or were you just done with him, done playing happy family?"

Silence. Then a small laugh. "Oh Daddy." Her voice was a half a world away. "You still don't trust me?"

He grimaced, ended the call, and sat a moment. Then he lifted the handset to his ear again and punched a button. "Tell the pilot to get my jet ready," he sighed. "I need to leave within the hour."

* * *

><p>"So, I think during today's session we should just concentrate on your dreams. We won't worry yet about the memories you've lost or blocked; that work will come later. I promise we'll take it slow and gentle – it's very important that you feel no pressure. We want to establish this time and space as safe. We don't want to create new or aggravate old anxiety."<p>

Anna had taken her place on a white leather loveseat across from Siobhain, who was seated in a mint-green cloth armchair. The desk was white; the walls of the office were a pale yellow. Anna knew she was being manipulated with colour but didn't care: the atmosphere of the room was incredibly soothing.

"Are you comfortable sharing the content of the dream? Is it always the same? Does it ever vary? And is the emotional response you feel consistent, or does it change?"

Anna blinked. "The dream isn't consistent, but events within it never really change. It's more like each dream represents a different part of a whole, a different section of the narrative. And lately the dream has progressed in a disturbing way. I don't know what to make of it."

Siobhain looked at Anna encouragingly. "Tell me."

"Well," Anna cleared her throat, "I'm in a white room. A hospital room, I think. My arms are strapped down. I'm wearing a gown. There's a sheet draped over me."

Siobhain nodded, smiled.

"My legs are in stirrups. And I'm in labour with my daughter Robin."

Siobhain glanced down, began writing notes on a pad of paper.

"But I don't seem to understand that I'm in labour – if that makes any sense."

Siobhain looked up and stopped writing.

"Well, part of me knows what's happening and the other part just feels pain. I can't explain it any more clearly. There are two doctors, nurses, someone in the room. They ignore me, don't speak or look at me even though I'm screaming and crying. This is the first part, the first dream. The second is after, once Robin is born. I know I'm giving birth – and I don't, if that makes sense. But I hear a baby cry. And I know it must be Robin I'm hearing. It's my daughter. And I'm sure she's being taken away. I try to get to her, I struggle against the straps, but I can't get loose. All I know is that I have to protect her. And I can't." With one hand Anna had grabbed the arm of the loveseat and was squeezing it; with the other, she pressed against her thigh. "It's generally when I'm in the middle of the second dream that I become violent."

Siobhain put the pen to her mouth. "How does this dream differ from the memory you have of the birth of your daughter?"

Anna leaned forward as though to emphasize her point. "It couldn't be more different. Robin was born in a small village in Italy, in a lovely home, with a caring midwife."

Siobhain pursed her lips. "So in the dream you've changed the memory. You've transferred the birth to another location. Did the room remind you of anything? Anything at all?"

Anna thought. "I don't know. A laboratory? Maybe even a prison. I'm not sure."

Siobhain nodded again.

* * *

><p>Robert searched and eventually discovered where Anna had hidden his phone – well, "hidden" was perhaps too strong a word. He was sure she'd simply hoped "out of sight" meant "out of mind" and that he wouldn't think to check it while she was away. He turned it on, began scrolling through his missed calls.<p>

He stopped when he noticed Stephen's number. He listened to the voice mail. "I don't want to bother you, Robert," Stephen said, his voice apologetic; "I know it's only been a couple of days, maybe not even, since we last met. I might have been imagining things, but I got the impression you'd come up with a theory. About Carolyn. Anyway it's Stephen. Call me when you can."

Robert turned the phone off again, put it on the table and stared at it. What in god's name was he going to tell him?

* * *

><p>The office was silent. Siobhain looked thoughtful.<p>

"Well, there's a lot for us to work with, Anna. Giving birth is a fairly common metaphor. For example, when I was writing my PhD dissertation, I and a number of my female colleagues repeatedly dreamed about being in labour; it's an obvious symbol for bringing a task to completion. The dream might be about something coming to a conclusion and might express anxiety or fear about that conclusion – a fear that it won't come to be, that something bad will happen to prevent it, that the 'baby' will be snatched away. You said the dreams started when you began a relationship with your ex-husband. Maybe the dream is expressing anxiety and insecurity about that renewed partnership.

"The ending of the dream and its shift in location also might make perfect sense, given recent events in your life. You and your ex-husband were locked in a lab, all the while knowing your daughter was alive, unable to reach her and help her. I can certainly see how your psyche might alter that scenario, change the lab to a hospital room, change her rescue into her birth, her rebirth. Does any of this make sense to you?"

Anna felt uneasy. "When you explain the dream away like that, it does. I can see the logic."

Siobhain picked up on Anna's reticence. "But?"

Anna shook her head. "I don't know. There's something. Something I can't explain. It all seems so real. When they take her away, it seems so final, so hopeless. But now, when I'm awake, I have her back. Robin is alive; she's back in my life; I can hold her, touch her. Why can't I in the dream? Why am I dreaming about her being taken away now that she's back home, back in Port Charles?"

Siobhain frowned. "That I don't know. It might be anxiety that you could lose her again. Or the dream might really be about your relationship with your ex-husband. When you gave birth to your daughter, you'd just suffered through a divorce. Perhaps now that you have Robert back, you fear the loss of your daughter. The mind does strange things, Anna. Perhaps, given your history, you feel you can have one but not the other – your daughter or your husband, not both. I promise you we'll work through your feelings over the next few sessions. If I can help you understand the content of the dreams, they should stop."

Anna nodded, but she didn't feel convinced.

* * *

><p>Mei Wu was uncharacteristically late in bed and uncharacteristically not alone. She was also uncharacteristically generous that morning, and so she rolled to her side and away only after her partner – a lovely smooth-skinned young man, delicate and feminine – had finished.<p>

But her generosity extended only so far. "You may leave now," she told him. "Get out."

He did so, quickly and without objection, with only the faintest of smiles and a slight bow, clutching the clothing he had gathered up hurriedly to his chest. She watched him leave disinterestedly, then stood, put on her robe, walked to the window of the penthouse suite and looked out. The view was shit, she thought to herself. She hated Port Charles.

There was a knock at the door. It opened. "Your breakfast, Ms Wu." Her assistant trembled as he placed the tray on her dining table. "And something was sent to you care of the hotel." Her assistant held up an envelope. "There's no return address, no indication of who it's from. May I open it?"

Mei Wu never opened her own mail, cautious of anthrax and letter bombs, but insisted it always be opened by others in her presence, suspicious of blackmail and other treachery. "Of course."

Her assistant opened the envelope, which contained neither explosives nor white powder. Once that fact had been established, he handed it over to Ms Wu and backed out of the room.

She unfolded the letter. It was short. She read it, twice, with interest, folded it again, and put it in the pocked of her robe. She sat down to breakfast.

* * *

><p>Anna was back home by 10:00. She nodded at the guard outside the building and again at the guard outside her apartment door. Once inside, she threw her keys down on the hall table. She felt tired, felt like she'd worked a full day, like it was time to go to bed again and not still mid-morning. "Robert?" she called.<p>

She found him where she'd left him, in the chair by the window – fast asleep. Of course, she thought, and decided to leave him be. Ignoring the temptation to lie down on the sofa and nap with him, she went into the kitchen to make a few calls.

Not twenty minutes later, feeling awake and well rested, he walked into the kitchen and found her, head down on the table as she was speaking to Rubin on the phone. He shoulders were sagged; one arm rested limply on the table as the other held her phone and propped up her cheek.

"No," she was saying. "Yes. I understand." She yawned. "Of course. Well, keep me informed." She gave Robert a wan smile. "I may be able to make it to the station later today . . . Yes. Fine. Okay."

Anna ended the call and lifted her head. "You're looking chipper."

Robert tightened the belt of his robe. "While you're looking done-in. Funny, that – I'm in better shape than you and I almost died two days ago."

"Don't remind me. And don't exaggerate."

"Whatever. You're in desperate need of a few hours of kip, Luv. Let me keep watch until noon. I feel bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

"Thanks but no thanks, Robert. I don't want to screw up my sleep cycle." Anna couldn't help it; she broke out in yawn. She shook her head. "God. I need another coffee."

Robert sat down at the table with her. "Where did you run off to so early? From the sound of it, you weren't at the station."

Anna shook her head. "No. I wasn't out on business. It was personal."

Robert frowned. "Now you've got me worried. Did you go to meet your other lover? Did you tell him you haven't been getting enough at home?"

Anna laughed despite her difficult morning and despite herself. "I told him no such thing. I told him I got _too_ much at home, thank you very much. I told him not to touch me. I needed a couple of hours of peace and quiet."

Robert grinned. "You lie like a rug. You know you want me 24-7."

Anna's smile changed. "Clearly," she said and took his hand.

Robert became serious. "Anna." Her eyes were moist. "Anna, what's wrong?"

She shook her head, frustrated, and rubbed the corners of her eyes. "Nothing," she answered. "Nothing. I'm just tired. And disappointed somehow. And God, Robert, you gave me a scare. I can't lose you. I want to protect you. But I can't trust myself right now. I couldn't sleep next to you last night. I wanted to. I'm so sorry."

Robert shifted his chair until he was right beside her. He pulled her toward him and held her tight. "It's okay, Luv. I'm okay. And you'll be okay too. You'll see. It'll work out."

Anna pushed him away. "God, Robert, no it won't; not on its own. It's a bloody mess. I've got to sort out a mob war; you've attracted the ire of a fucking psychopath; seven hours of the day I'm a dangerously unstable bedmate, a ticking time bomb. I was always so good with explosives, but I have no idea how to defuse myself."

Robert took her hand again. "I'll do whatever it takes to help you. Let me help you."

Anna stood and began to pace the kitchen floor. "You'll love this: at 7:30 this morning I was sitting on a therapist's couch describing my dreams. While you were here alone. I should have been here protecting you."

Robert was still. "I was fine, I _am_ fine. And you repeatedly told me you didn't remember your dreams."

Anna stopped pacing and met his gaze. "You're right; I did tell you that. But you never really believed me."

She began to move again. "As I was saying, I told my dreams to a psychotherapist who scrutinized, dissected, and explained them away in less than an hour. I feel so humiliated, so stupid. Robert, I've been so stupid! I was stymied by the simplest operations of dream logic. A cigar is, in fact, never a cigar. It's always something else."

Robert gave his head a shake. "Okay, now I'm confused. I thought in fact that a cigar _is _sometimes just a cigar."

Anna became still. "No, Robert. A metaphor is never literal. You want to know what I've been dreaming? I'll tell you. I'm locked up in a room. Robin is a baby, and she's snatched away from me. I can't protect her; I can't save her. I'm tied up. There's nothing I can do. The literal content of the dream is distressing enough. But apparently, on another level, according to my doctor, I might be worried about something else. I might be worried about us – worried that I can't save _us_. My subconscious is warning me that we won't work. Something will happen, something will drive us apart. Or you'll be taken away."

Robert stood and held Anna gently by the shoulders. "Okay, listen – I don't care what you're dreaming about. It's all rubbish. First of all, Robin isn't a baby anymore, and although someone took her, we got her back. Second of all, nothing's going to force us apart. Not this time. Not now, not ever. I'm going nowhere."

Anna put her hand to his cheek. "I had no intention of going anywhere twenty-two years ago. Look how that turned out. In the end I had no choice. And God, Robert, you could have been killed two days ago. After everything, now that I finally have you back again, I could have lost you forever."

Robert took her hand and kissed it. "I'm here. You're here. And I love you."

Anna folded into his arms. "I love you too. I just hope it's enough."

* * *

><p>Mei Wu had breakfasted and was showered and dressed. She stood and looked again at the view outside her penthouse window. Her phone was in her hand. She dialed, lifted it to her ear.<p>

When the call was answered, she spoke in her most pleasant voice. "There's been an interesting development. Meet me and I'll tell you all about it. 3:00, my office in the Asian Quarter."

She hung up.


	29. Chapter 29

Anna was in her office face-down on her desk. She'd decided to close her eyes for just a second, to rest her heavy head for just a moment, but as soon as her forehead made contact with the wood she was out and away. She plunged immediately into exhaustion-fueled dreams – intense, bright, the images shifting quickly.

She was looking up into the sky – blue, clear, expansive. She was breathing heavily and realized that she was cold. She was wet, exhausted, too tired to move. She could feel rocks under her back, waves washing up against her, lapping her body. She wanted to sleep but knew she shouldn't, knew she might drown. A wave washed up over her face; she breathed it in, coughed. She had to get out of the water. But she couldn't move. She heard the sound of footsteps approaching on the rocks.

Suddenly she was standing and walking in a landscape of snow. The sun was shining and reflecting off the white all around her, almost blinding her. She tried to see, tried to decide which direction to go, but everything looked the same – harsh light broken only occasionally by indistinct, dark, unfocused shapes. She stumbled; strong arms grabbed her, pulled her forward. She couldn't see the face of the person holding her. She wasn't sure if she should struggle or give in, if she was in danger or being saved. Her face burned with cold.

The sensation intensified to searing heat. She was thrust off her feet, blown back; she felt the shock of the ground as she hit, shoulder first, then head. She wanted to sleep but knew she shouldn't, she might burn to death. She could hear the snap of fire to her right, tried to move but couldn't. Everything was black with indistinct flickers of light. Her ears were ringing. She felt herself being turned over. She wasn't sure if she should struggle or give in.

She was on her back in a white room. Her body ached – her back, her stomach, her legs. Her vision was blurred, but she could see a dark shape off in the corner. She was immediately afraid. She tried to move but couldn't and realized her arms and legs were strapped. The dark shape began to approach her, hovered above her. She wanted to cry out but couldn't. The figure reached out to her. Then she heard a snap, a crack. She felt something warm hit her face. The figure froze, hung in the air for a moment, then collapsed over top of her. She opened her mouth to scream.

Anna jolted awake.

* * *

><p>There was a light knock at the door. "Come in," Mei Wu invited.<p>

The door opened with a light click, swung open a quarter of the way. "It's me. As directed." Giordano smiled cautiously. "You insisted that we meet."

Wu was seated at her desk. The interior of the room was unexpectedly chic and modern – walls white, furniture sleek, a combination of white and chrome – given its location above a cluttered second-hand furniture shop. "I did," she responded. "Now come in all the way and shut the door. I promise I won't bite."

Giordano did as he was told.

* * *

><p>There was a knock at Anna's office door. She was sitting bolt upright, still shaken from the dream. One hand went up to straighten her hair. "Come in," she called.<p>

It was Rubin. He gave her a strange look. "Are you all right, Commissioner? You look …"

"I'm fine," Anna insisted. Her heart was pounding in her ears; beads of sweat had collected on the back of her neck and above her lip. "Just a bit tired. What do you want?"

Rubin gingerly held an envelope in his hand. "This was dropped off at the desk for you. Security flagged it as suspicious, but I thought you should look at it before it was sent off for tests. I was pretty sure you'd know better than them if it was …"

"A bomb. A threat. Yes. You did the right thing, Rubin. Let me have it." Anna stood and took the envelope. She looked at the handwriting.

"Thank you, Rubin. It's fine. I'll handle this. I'm sure there's no threat."

Rubin's expression was uncertain.

"Don't worry," she ordered him. "I know who it's from. I trust the source. And I'm curious to find out the contents. So …." She made a gesture for him to leave.

He did. Anna stared at the envelope for a moment before opening it.

* * *

><p>Wu stood. "Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like a drink? Or is it too early for you?"<p>

Giordano walked up to the desk. He unbuttoned his jacket and sat down. "I wouldn't say it's ever too early for me. But there are situations in which I prefer to stay clear-headed. If we're going to talk serious business, I might decline your offer."

Mei Wu was standing by a beautiful chrome and glass bar. "I think a drink might make you feel more relaxed, Mr. Giordano. If you're more relaxed, our discussion may be more productive. Scotch? Brandy? I have everything here. I think I'll have some Chartreuse. Do you know it? You're welcome to join me, though I don't know many men who like the taste. It's apparently not sweet enough for the male palate, and the flavour is – how would one say it in English? – 'herbaceous'? May one say that to describe a taste? I've only heard the term used to describe plantings in a garden."

Giordano smiled. "I have no idea. I'm a simple man, Ms. Wu."

She poured two small glasses. "Anyway, I find the flavour very soothing. I hope you do as well."

She handed him one of the drinks. "Chin chin."

He lifted it. "À votre santé." He waited for her to take a sip and then did the same.

* * *

><p>Anna opened the envelope and unfolded the sheet of paper inside.<p>

"I'm sorry," it read in familiar handwriting. "I've tried to put things right. Be careful. If I never see you again, know I love you."

Anna felt her gut clench. What in God's name had he done? Though his intentions were usually good, he often made situations worse.

* * *

><p>Wu was sitting down again at the desk and across from Giordano. "You like the Chartreuse?" she asked. "I'm impressed. My opinion of you is slightly improved."<p>

Giordano took another sip of the liqueur. "I'm not sure how I feel about the implication. I've not often been thought feminine in my tastes, Ms. Wu – in fact, I think of myself as a man's man. Perhaps I'm a bit old fashioned. More important, I'm starting to grow impatient. Enough with the pleasantries – I'd like to know why you called this meeting. I thought we'd reached a point in our relationship where we could amicably part ways. You assume control over the Asian Quarter and I concentrate on my import/export trade between Canada and the United States. I give you a deal on certain products necessary for you to conduct your business. Otherwise, we simply stay out of each others' way."

Wu didn't smile. "Yes, that was the deal. But that was before."

Giordano put down his glass. "Before what?"

Wu's gaze didn't waver. "Before I knew I'd been played."

Giordano had his gun out and levelled at Wu's chest in an instant. He heard a click from under her desk and cast his eyes down. Her gun was levelled below and through the desk at Giordano's gut.

He smiled. "What we have here is a Mexican standoff, Ms. Wu. What do we do now?"

* * *

><p>Anna lifted the handset of her phone and pushed a button. "Rubin, do we have any intel on Giordano's whereabouts? I haven't been keeping up with the reports for the last couple of days. I need that information ASAP."<p>

She looked at the letter again. Damn it, Duke, she thought; why couldn't you just let things be? Somehow, even at a distance, he had to interfere.

* * *

><p>"I received an interesting anonymous letter this morning informing me of your deal with Sonny Corinthos. Would you care to explain?" Mei Wu's expression was blank. Giordano suspected this was a clear sign of her fury.<p>

"I don't know what you're talking about. I had no deal with Corinthos. It's been you and me all along. If I'd had an arrangement with Sonny, would I have agreed to his murder? I wanted him out of the picture as badly as you did."

Mei Wu smiled grimly. "I don't see the difficulty. Of course you'd kill someone with whom you had an agreement. It's called betrayal, the sweet double-cross. What better way to control someone than to promise him fidelity?"

"That would only work if the other party trusted me."

"And no one ratted you out. You were a fool to entrust your secret to an enemy. Or to a friend."

"I trust no one. I'm like you. And like everyone else in our line of work."

Mei Wu cocked her head to one side. "Are you still trying to convince me you weren't conspiring with Corinthos? There's no point continuing with the charade, you know. I'll never believe you."

Giordano laughed. "Okay. Cards on the table. I didn't _entrust_ information about my deal with Corinthos to anyone. I tried to use it to threaten and coerce someone into doing what I wanted. It was a calculated gamble that unfortunately didn't work. But I promise you, there will be hell to pay. By trying to get one over on me, you correspondent - it could only be Duke Lavery - has signed his own death warrant, as well as Anna Devane's. Now that everything's out in the open, though, we can still honour our deal. All I want is Canada – I control the trade across the border, in and out. The rest of the business is yours. The take-away from that anonymous letter should be that I chose you over Corinthos. Despite how this all started, we can end it together."

Mei Wu looked as though she was seriously considering Giordano's offer. At the same time, his gun lifted slightly, and his hand seemed to slacken its grip. A gun fired. The silencer muffled the report. No one outside the office heard a thing.

* * *

><p>Anna's phone rang once; she snatched it up. "Devane. Yes?"<p>

It was Rubin. "I have one of the detectives assigned to Giordano on the line."

"Put him through."

There was a pause. "Commissioner. Rogers here. I'm on Giordano right now. I followed him to a second-hand furniture place on fifth and Winchester. He went in about a half an hour ago. I haven't seen anyone else enter or leave."

Anna had a bad feeling. "Second-hand furniture doesn't really seem Giordano's thing. We know he's not shopping. Stick with him. Report back when you see movement."

"Okay, Commissioner. Rogers out."

Anna hung up the phone. Her hand was trembling. She still hadn't shaken off the dream and now her professional sixth-sense was thrumming.

* * *

><p>Mei Wu rose from her chair. Gino Giordano slumped in his.<p>

"My own calculated gamble," she told him as she walked up beside his chair and kicked away the gun that, in the shock and pain, had fallen from his hand. "Your subtle movement – the foolish gesture inviting me to put up my own gun – cost you your life. I want you to know that before you die, Gino."

She knelt down and looked Giordano in the eye. As she spoke, his crisp white shirt rapidly turned sodden and scarlet, the stain spreading irregularly left to right, up to down. "And I want you to know another thing: this second sweet double-cross – mine of you – was always in the cards. We were never going to end this together, Gino. Never. You're right that the Asian Quarter is mine. But it was never yours to give. And I also want Canada. My father had a home there, a home I never had the privilege to visit. I was raised far away, you see. I was never intended to be part of the family business. But I want my birthright. And I'm claiming it now."

Mei Wu leaned her own face close to Giordano's. Her lips almost brushed his cheeks. "And _I _want Anna Devane. No one has the privilege of signing her death warrant but me. I have an old score to settle with her and Robert Scorpio. Eventually."

She stood quickly, stepped away from the chair, lifted her gun, and put a second bullet into Gino Giordano, this time in his temple. His body convulsed for a moment and then went perfectly still.

* * *

><p>Just as Anna was preparing to leave the office, Rogers called to check in.<p>

"Commissioner. I've been sitting here for three hours. Giordano hasn't come out again. What should I do? There's been no movement."

Anna put a hand to her forehead and leaned into it, exhausted. "Stay there. If Giordano doesn't appear again before your shift ends, get your replacement to meet you there. I'll arrange for another agent to keep an eye on Giordano's penthouse. If he's managed to give us the slip and reappears at the Metro Court, someone will let you know."

Anna sat for a moment after the call ended. Maybe Giordano was slumming. Maybe he was paying an extended visit to a lover. Or maybe something else was going on.

* * *

><p>When Anna finally returned home, she found Robert in the living room. She was surprised to see him showered, shaved, dressed in a smart button shirt, sports jacket, and jeans.<p>

"What's this?" she asked. "Are you going out? Meeting _your_ other lover?"

"Do you think she'll like it?" Robert smiled. "Do I look okay?"

"You look better than I do, I'm sure," Anna sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She looked at him again and smiled. "She'll love it. You look very nice. Distinguished. Handsome even. But why? I expected to find you in your pyjamas and slippers. You're convalescing, don't forget."

Robert smiled and shrugged. "No special occasion other than surviving a near-death experience. I feel a new sense of purpose." He walked up and took her hands. "And a desperate need to show you how much I love you, to show you I'm grateful for this second chance."

Anna frowned. "_Second_?"

Robert shook his head. "Okay, third, fourth, fifth – whatever. I know you've given me more breaks than I deserve. My fate has always been in your hands."

Anna laughed. "It's hardly felt that way to me."

Robert pulled her to him. "Always. The moment I first saw you in Donely's office. You cocked your head and looked at me and I was lost. The moment you sat down next to me in at the bar of the hotel in New York the night of the awards dinner. You turned my world upside down when you walked back into my life. When you came looking for my help and Robin ran into your arms, called you Luv. When I left for Australia. You don't know what it took for me to get on that plane, to leave you and Robin. Even though we weren't together, you were my family. It felt right being around you, with you. That's why I kept coming back."

Anna scowled. "That and you wanted to annoy me, ruin my life. Just when I'd start feeling happy and ready to move on without you, you'd be back in town, sleeping on my couch, flirting with me, reminding me what I'd lost, making me love you again. And then, of course, you'd leave. It was cruel, Robert."

"Well, I had to watch you be with Lavery. Every second of every day I saw you with him, I wanted it to be me."

Anna thought again about the letter, pushed it from her mind. "And I had to watch you with Holly. And Cheryl. That red-headed woman – what was her name? And Kate. It killed me, Robert. But it was important at the time that we let each other go. It wasn't meant to be. There was still too much pain and too much resentment."

Robert looked wistful. "All that time lost. What could have been."

Anna squeezed his hand. "It turned out all right. We became friends again. I had you in my life. That was the most important thing to me. You didn't hate me anymore. And you got to know our daughter."

Robert smiled. "Speaking of our daughter: she dropped off dinner for us. It's being kept warm in the oven."

* * *

><p>Not having taken a painkiller since breakfast, Robert convinced Anna to allow him a small glass of wine with dinner. He'd savoured it through the meal but when finished eating immediately drained the glass. He sighed with contentment. "I've had an amazing recovery if I do say so myself," he remarked with a grin. "Incredible healing powers. Honestly, I feel terrific. I think that blow to the head shook off some dust and rust and loosened things up.<p>

Anna sat back with her own glass of wine and looked non-plussed. "Who knew? I should have clocked you a long time ago, and repeatedly."

Robert grinned wider. "You did, in fact – accidentally _and_ on purpose."

Anna smiled. "I suppose I did, sometimes in the throes of anger, sometimes in the throes of passion."

"I preferred the latter."

"I've no doubt you did."

Robert put down his glass. "Do you remember the night Robin and her friend cooked us dinner? And then Robin left the house and slept over? What was that girl's name again?"

Anna nodded. "Her name was Jodi. And I do. I recollect that night very clearly."

"We began up in the bedroom. You looked very beautiful, by the way. But then we decided to take advantage of having the house to ourselves. We decided to christen the kitchen."

Anna began to laugh. "And the little – _darlings_ had left dishes all over the place. They'd cooked us dinner and then left the kitchen an absolute mess. It was disgusting. I was so angry."

"Didn't stop us, though." Robert leaned in. "We started on the floor. You were on top. In your enthusiasm you knocked the table, sent that pot flying. It hit me on the head."

"It gave you a bit of a goose egg, as I recall. I kissed it better – well, I licked cold mashed potatoes off your forehead."

"I finished with you bent over the table and leaned in a puddle of lumpy mushroom gravy." Robert's voice became low, gravely. "You know, I still can't see a dirty pot without getting a little bit aroused. In every mucky dish I see an image of you in a compromising position."

Anna smiled seductively, lifted her empty plate, displayed it for him. "You like what you see, Mr. Scorpio?"

Robert grabbed the dish from her hands, looked at her, then at it. He gave it an exaggerated, drawn-out, theatrically-sensual lick. He put it down.

Anna leaned suggestively over the table.

"Time to do the dishes, Agent Scorpio. This time in consideration of your recent injury I'll try to forgo the blow to the head."

* * *

><p>Later, naked and tangled up in Robert's arms and legs, she fell asleep again, hard and fast.<p>

She was lying on the rocks, the water lapping her body. She heard footsteps, quick at first then, as they grew nearer, slower, cautious.

"Robert?" she called out. "Robert?" There had been an explosion. Where was Robert?

She was back in the field of snow. She stumbled. She felt arms pull her in. "Robert?" She was in his arms, she was sure. She could sense him, smell him; she knew his touch. She collapsed into the embrace. She gave everything over. She was safe.

A sudden feeling of vertigo and then shock: she was on the ground. Hands pulled at her; she felt her clothing drag against cement. Someone turned her over onto her back. Her cheek was hot, wet. She felt ashamed, wanted to roll away, crawl back into the fire.

Then she felt blood hit her face, the weight of a body across hers, a hand across her mouth.

"Quiet." A woman's voice. "Your life depends on it. Can you understand me?"

Anna felt her head nod. The figure lifted her hand. She lifted the dead weight of the body off of Anna; it slipped, nauseatingly limp, to the floor. She untied Anna's hands and feet, peered into her eyes.

"Can you stand?"

Anna felt her mouth open but couldn't form the words to respond.

"You don't need to answer, just do it. We need to get out of here fast."

She helped Anna swing her feet to the side of the bed, braced her under the shoulder. Anna's legs buckled at first. She felt weak, weaker than she'd felt in her life. And more afraid.


	30. Chapter 30

Only a few chapters to go - I'm thinking three or four more and then I'm done! But I'll be out of town for a couple of weeks and may not be able to write while I'm away. My apologies if I don't post again until later in July. The ending is coming, I promise! To those still following, thanks for sticking with me.

* * *

><p>Robert was standing at the door the next morning, dressed and impatient to leave. Anna was blocking his exit.<p>

"But I feel fine! I can't offer you any clearer evidence that I've recovered than I gave you – _repeatedly_, let me emphasize – last night! There's no reason for me to be stuck in this apartment for another hour."

"Other than the fact that someone tried to kill you just a few days ago."

Robert smiled and waved his finger. "Negative. She just wanted to get away from me."

Anna's arms were crossed. ""You really think that? This is someone who killed a woman not _despite_ the fact that she was pregnant but _because_ she was pregnant. According to the bartender Elizabeth would have slit your throat with a piece of broken glass if he hadn't threatened her with a bat."

Robert paused, then shrugged. "Well, in any case she's left town. Ergo, she's no longer a threat."

"She took out a hit on her husband. Elizabeth doesn't need to be in town be a threat. She can kill you from a distance."

"I can take care of myself."

"Which is what I told you not too long ago when you chewed me out for going to Kelly's for a coffee unescorted, and when you kept insisting I wear that bullet-proof vest. You wanted me to humour you by being careful – now I'm asking you to humour me. Stay here while I'm out. There's a man at the entrance to the building and another at the door to the apartment. I've told both that you're not to leave and go anywhere without my okay."

Robert leaned in toward her. "And what if I leave anyway? What will they do? Shoot me?"

Anna didn't move, didn't flinch. "Something worse. They'll call me. If you leave, Robert, I'll know. And there will be hell to pay, I promise you. Stay here, please, just until we know better what Elizabeth has planned."

She kissed him and left.

Robert considered what his next move should be.

* * *

><p>Anna stopped first at the station and then met Rogers' replacement outside the second-hand furniture shop. She left her car and entered his when she thought the coast was clear.<p>

"So?" she asked. "What's the situation?"

The young man in the car shook his head. "There's been absolutely no movement. Nothing. When I got here it was dark. There were no lights on anywhere in the building. I've been watching the whole time, minus a half-hour break four hours ago."

"Who relieved you?" Anna asked.

"Jackson. And he said nothing happened on his watch either. Giordano's car is still sitting on the street over there – it's the dark-blue Lexus."

Anna stared at the car. "It's possible this was a diversion. A way to throw us off his trail for a while."

"Could be. We didn't expect he'd ditch the car. But the only other exit from the building is on the side, and I have a good view of it from here. I'm sure I would have seen him come out. If Giordano isn't still in that building, he must have disappeared in a puff of smoke."

Anna sat for a moment then made a decision. "I'm going in."

The young officer looked a bit panicked. "Do you think that's a good idea, Commissioner? It might blow our cover."

"If Giordano arranged all this to lose us, our cover was already blown. I'll just go check out the building, see first if I can get in as a potential customer – who knows, maybe the store is open and maybe I'm in the market for some used furniture. I did just recently lease an apartment. And I used to have a keen eye for antiques." She opened the door to the car. "If I'm not back in thirty minutes, call the station for backup." Anna checked the time. "And don't watch too carefully just in case I see an opportunity and decide to have an unofficial look-round." Before he could say anything in reply, Anna was out and striding toward the building.

She went to the front door first, tried it – it was locked, and a "Closed" sign hung crookedly in the window. She peered in. The store looked a jumble, full of cheap, worn furniture and seen-better-days house wares collected by type: chairs, tables, desks, dishes, glass ware, linens. Anna walked along the side of the building looking for the second entrance.

She approached the steel security door and quickly realized there was no way she could coerce or force it open. She kept moving. Near the back corner of the store, she noticed a first-floor window opened just a crack – just enough. She checked to see if anyone was looking – an almost unnecessary gesture; the neighbourhood seemed deserted. With not inconsiderable effort she pushed the window up and entered the building head-first.

* * *

><p>Robert was in the guest bedroom looking for the bag he'd ask Anna to store. He congratulated himself on wonderful foresight. To think he'd almost brought his old gear to the second-hand sporting goods store. He moved a plastic storage box in the closet and there it was – his beloved duffle bag. Inside, with other miscellaneous and sundry items, he found his climbing harness and rope, which long ago had replaced his less reliable grappling hook and line. Robert smiled.<p>

* * *

><p>Anna, one hand on her holster, wandered the first floor of the shop, looking and listening carefully for signs of life in the building. There were none – all the items allegedly for sale were covered with a thin layer of dust. Convinced the first floor contained no immediate threat, Anna cautiously began ascending the stairs.<p>

On the second floor she found empty rooms but didn't get the same feeling, the same sense of abandonment. Below in the store it felt as though no one had occupied the space for years; above, it seemed almost that the occupants had left only hours before. Anna wasn't stirring up and breathing in dust just by moving through the space, as she had done below, and when she dragged her finger – gloved, to ensure she didn't leave a print – along the surface of a window sill in the back room, it came up clean. Anna suspected Giordano had met someone here. But what had happened after?

Anna looked at her watch – she was running out of time. She went back to the staircase and headed for the basement. As she did so, she undid the button of her holster and lightly gripped the handle of her gun, just in case.

* * *

><p>Piece of cake, he thought to himself as he hid the line, still dangling from the guest bedroom window, as best he could by flipping it to the side of the many sills of windows lined from above down the multiple storeys of the building to the ground floor. He then slipped out of the harness, tucked it into the bag slung from his shoulders, and headed off down the street. It felt good to be free again.<p>

So good, in fact, that he was distracted and didn't notice when he picked up a very professional and very subtle tail not half a block from the apartment building.

* * *

><p>Anna pulled a small flashlight from her pocket when she reached the basement. It wasn't pitch black but dark enough that the extra light was comforting. She also had her gun in hand, though pointed at the floor – she didn't want to shoot a squatter accidentally. She was fairly sure the building was empty; she'd heard no sounds and didn't get the feeling anyone was in the general vicinity. She'd learned over the years that it was good to trust one's instincts but foolish to rely on them. The gun's safety was off, and she was a quick draw.<p>

At the bottom of the stairs she had the choice to turn left or right. She chose left. She had the same feeling she had upstairs, even though the basement was dark and dank: it seemed lived in somehow, or if not exactly lived in, used, utilized, inhabited. Anna pointed the flashlight beam down and in front, careful that the light didn't extend past corners or walls. She didn't want to alert anyone – if anyone was there – to her presence.

Another corner. She drew up to it, readied herself, rounded it quickly, raised her flashlight quickly, gun ready. Nothing: an empty room, concrete and dirt. She backtracked to the split at the bottom of the staircase and this time went right. Another corner, another quick movement around it, another large empty room. But this one had a steel door at the far end.

Anna cautiously made her way toward it.

* * *

><p>Robert had walked to a remote section of the waterfront not far from the Bucket of Blood – or rather, where the bar had stood years before. The building was empty now, abandoned, dilapidated. Robert found an old shipping crate up near the wall of the building; he sat on it, back to the wall (probably best to be careful – he knew Anna was right, that if Elizabeth wanted him gone, she had the means to dispose of him). He pulled out his phone, dialed a number.<p>

When the line was picked up, he said, "I need one more bit of information from you, mate. It's a matter of life and death. My life and death, to be more specific, and maybe Anna's. Certainly others'." Robert paused to listen to the reply. "I know you will, and I appreciate it. You know anytime you need it, we'll return the favour." Robert smiled. "Yeah. Almost like old times." Another pause. "It's not going to be easy, I suspect, though it sounds like it should be. I need contact information, and if you can an address or addresses, for William Beaty. Owner and CEO of Beaty-Morrisson. And I need you to get this for me without having your inquiry flagged. Can you do it?"

Robert listened. "Okay, mate. Do your best. I appreciate it." He ended the call.

* * *

><p>Anna almost never left home without her lock-picking kit, and she pulled it out now. She'd always been skilled at fine detail work: lock picking, bomb defusing, alarm bypassing, and later, computer hacking. She had patience many other agents lacked, including Robert. When they'd worked together at the WSB, later as private detectives, and still later when she was a special agent with the WSB and he was Police Commissioner, he'd always let her do the tasks that required a steady hand, calm focus, and unwavering persistence.<p>

She turned the flashlight off to make herself less visible. She didn't need it anyway; she needed to work by feel and needed both her hands. It wasn't a simple lock; it was quite sophisticated, difficult for the average break-and-enter artist to open. Someone wanted very much to hide what lay behind the door. She worked on the lock for a full minute. Then she felt tumblers slipping into place. The lock clicked open.

She grabbed the handle and pulled the door toward her, gun at the ready again.

* * *

><p>Robert sat and looked out at the water. He knew he should call Stephen but had no idea what to say. Should he tell him that Carolyn was dead, that she'd been pregnant with his child, that his friend Elizabeth had killed them both? Should Robert lie, tell him he hadn't been able to discover what had happened to Carolyn, leave him in uncertainty for the rest of his life?<p>

Or should he tell a different lie, tell Stephen that he'd discovered a trail to Europe, suggest that Carolyn had left of her own free will, had chosen a lover over her husband, that if she'd been pregnant, the child hadn't been Stephen's at all, had been Alan's, had been another man's?

Robert thought back to Anna's disappearance. Others, friends even, had tried to suggest to him that Anna had gone willingly with Cesar. That she'd left him and not been taken. That _she'd_ been in love with another man. Part of him had wanted to believe them – a malicious, selfish, unforgiving part, one that too often emerged from the murky depths. Everything would have been so simple if he could have believed that he was the victim of yet another double-cross, yet another betrayal. It even would have been a sweet absolution: if he'd believed that she'd betrayed him again, her guilt would have freed him of his guilt for leaving her injured, scarred, and pregnant in the hospital room in Paris. Life would have been so much easier if he'd listened and believed. Holly was back in his life. She was there; she obviously had wanted him back. He would have been able to stay with his daughter, watch her grow up, protect her, and get on with his own life in a way he hadn't been able to, believing instead what he'd believed.

Which had turned out to be the truth. At least, almost all of the time he was almost certain it was the truth. That dark part, that devil on his shoulder sometimes turned his thoughts black, whispered in his ear. Now he sensed it again, heard it: felt something bordering on hope that he hadn't been wrong to let Anna go after the boat explosion, that maybe she'd deserved to be abandoned – twice – and that he hadn't been the bad guy after all. In fact, by coming to her rescue the first time, he'd done more than enough, more than he should have, had sacrificed everything for what may have been a lie. Their love.

Robert sat and brooded. Should he save Stephen more years of pain and guilt? Should he spare him the knowledge that a woman to whom Stephen had introduced Carolyn had taken her life and the life of their unborn child? Or should he tell him the truth, let him know that Carolyn had loved him, that they would have been a family if only things had turned out differently? In hindsight, what would Robert have preferred to hear all those years ago? The truth or a lie?

Robert realized he wasn't at all sure and was disgusted with himself.

* * *

><p>The door was heavy, solid, but swung easily: evidence that it was used regularly. The lock wasn't rusty; the hinges were oiled and smooth. Though the store probably hadn't been open in years, the door and whatever it led to had been maintained and frequented recently.<p>

The door opened to pitch black. Anna shone her flashlight into the darkness. The beam of light hit nothing, a void, then rock. It followed a roughly carved wall excavated below the building and Anna suddenly realized what she was looking at. The store was an opening to the catacombs. Giordano had escaped – or been taken – through this tunnel while, like fools, they'd been watching and waiting for him to emerge above.

Anna wouldn't follow. She knew better than to enter the catacombs without a guide. She backed out, shut and locked the door again, and made her way back to the stairs.

* * *

><p>Robert had brought up Stephen's number on his phone's screen, and his finger hovered over it. He could call, he thought, set up a meeting. It wasn't the kind of thing you told someone over the phone anyway. There would be a delay, he told himself, and he'd have time to decide what to say. Still, Robert hesitated.<p>

Just as he was about to swipe the screen, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Robert looked up. A man in a short rain jacket and dark glasses had walked leisurely up to the dock and was looking out at the water. Robert slipped the phone into his pocket. He'd wait until he was alone again.

The man pulled out a pack of cigarettes, extracted one, put it in his mouth, lit it, and took a deep drag. He gave no indication that he might move on soon, seemed, in fact, inclined to stay. Robert wondered if he should move instead.

The man took a few more steps along the dock. He was close enough now that Robert could smell the cigarette smoke.

"Nice view," the man commented.

"Yes it is," Robert agreed.

* * *

><p>Anna walked up to the surveillance car, made the universal gesture for "Roll down your window." She told the officer, "He's gone. The building's empty. We've lost him. I'll meet you back at the station and we can file a report."<p>

She watched the car take off.

* * *

><p>"I'm new to the city. Just got in yesterday," the man was telling Robert. "A friend told me there was a bar here that I should try. I was out for a walk, was in the neighbourhood, and thought I'd check it out. Looks like I'm a few years too late. You from around here?"<p>

Robert nodded. "I used to live here. I remember the bar."

The man took a long drag on his cigarette. "When did it close down?"

Robert shook his head. "No idea. I left town over twenty years ago."

The man wasn't looking at Robert, was still looking out at the water. "Why'd you come back?"

Robert wasn't enjoying the conversation and wondered what the hell the man wanted. Maybe he was just overly friendly. Maybe he was a two-bit thief testing Robert out, seeing if he was a potential mark. Robert decided he wanted to find out. "My daughter and grand-daughter live here."

The man cackled, then began to cough uncontrollably. When he finally recovered, he spat, and threw the nub of his cigarette on the dock, ground it out with his shoe. "Yeah. Why is it that family's always in some shit-hole and you gotta go back to visit them?"

"It wasn't such a bad city. Not when I lived here. Things have changed."

The man looked at Robert. "That's what things do. They change. Doesn't mean we have to like it."

* * *

><p>Anna got back into her car. She pulled out her phone, swiped the screen.<p>

* * *

><p>Robert's phone rang. He looked down for a moment, no longer than a second, as he reached into his pocket. He felt something hit him in the right shoulder. And then he felt nothing but pain as every muscle in his body began to spasm. His jaw clenched, his body shook, and finally everything went black.<p>

* * *

><p>Robert didn't answer. Maybe he was in the shower, Anna told herself. She'd wait five minutes and try again.<p> 


	31. Chapter 31

I made up a middle name for Anna, because I'm not sure she has one. Anyone know?

* * *

><p>Robert felt the room turning with nauseating slowness as he regained consciousness. He gradually became more and more aware, first of a burning pain radiating, spiralling out from his shoulder into his chest and his upper back; second of the feeling of the cold floor beneath him; third of the sensation of a momentary confusion and fear. Where was he? Why was he here? Who had taken him?<p>

He suppressed the latter sensation as best he could, groaned, rolled onto his left side, and tried to sit up. He couldn't at first, fell back down, but eventually was able to push himself to seated. He looked around the room. It was small, empty, dimly lit, with linoleum floors, high windows of frosted glass and crossed with steel bars. A basement. Somewhere. God only knew where. There was a single door. No furniture. And a camera positioned high in the corner to the right of the door.

They know I'm awake, Robert thought. I wonder what's next. And who "they" are.

He quickly but surreptitiously checked his pockets and holster in case "they" were imbeciles. But they weren't. His phone and gun had been taken.

All he could do was wait.

* * *

><p>Anna was getting worried. Again. Robert wasn't answering his phone. Again.<p>

She called the officer positioned outside her apartment. "Rogers. It's the commissioner. I can't get hold of Robert. I need you to check on him. Ring the bell first. If he doesn't answer, use the key I gave you and go in, please."

She hung up and considered heading home but didn't want to overreact.

* * *

><p>One of the skills they'd tried to teach agents training for the WSB was the ability to measure the passage of time without access to – obviously – a clock and without a clear view of the sky. Robert had always been rubbish with his estimates and lamented his lack of skill now. They'd taken his watch, probably imagining it had some sophisticated tracking device embedded in its mechanisms, or maybe a cyanide pill secreted in a hidden compartment. In fact it had neither. It had been his father's watch and did nothing but tell time. And even that it did badly, especially since the explosion off the coast of Venezuela. He usually relied on his phone to give him the proper time and wore the watch for sentimental reasons. And now they'd taken it.<p>

Robert had no idea how long he'd been in the basement since he'd regained consciousness. It felt to him like hours but could have been as little as one. Anna. Now _she_ had an uncanny ability to measure time. When they'd first worked together and later, after they were married, he'd made a game of testing her. They'd be on a stake out, she without a watch, and he would quiz her. What time is it now? he would ask. They'd be in bed, he thinking she couldn't possibly have been keeping track because he'd successfully distracted her. What time is it now? And she would always guess within fifteen minutes of the actual time. Robert was always amazed.

What time is it now, Anna? He wished she could answer, and he wondered if he would ever see her again.

* * *

><p>"Repeat that please, Rogers," Anna requested. Her eyes flicked to the clock on the desk. It was just after one-thirty.<p>

"I rang the bell, Commissioner. Then I knocked. There was no answer. So I entered the apartment. There's no sign of him."

Anna pressed her right hand to her temple. "No sign. He's not there. You've checked every room?"

"Of course, Commissioner." Rogers sounded slightly irritated. "He's gone. There's no sign of a struggle. Everything's in order. It's as if he just vanished."

Anna's jaw clenched. "He couldn't have just vanished. Did you leave your post at any time, Rogers? Even for just a few minutes? Did he, for example, ask you to run an errand for him?"

"No ma'am." Now Rogers sounded both irritated and contrite. "He couldn't have gotten by me, I swear. He didn't exit through that door. He couldn't possibly. I would have seen him and stopped him."

Anna wondered. "Okay, Rogers. I'm coming over. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." She hung up, grabbed her bag, put on her coat, and headed out her office door.

* * *

><p>Four hours? That was Robert's new guess. He'd eventually recovered sufficiently from the stun gun that he was able to stand and pace the tiny room. He walked closer to the window and tried to listen for sounds, anything that would identify where he was being held, but he heard nothing, only silence. He walked up to stand and peer into the camera in the corner. "What next?" he asked it. "What are you waiting for? What do you want of me?" No response. Robert paced again, then finally leaned up against a wall, eventually sliding down it to sit again on the floor.<p>

Not five minutes later he heard the sound of a key. The lock clicked, and the door swung open slowly. Robert braced himself.

* * *

><p>Anna met Rogers at the front door of the apartment. Rogers looked sheepish. "I'm sorry, Commissioner. I don't know how this happened."<p>

Anna frowned. "I think I do. Don't feel too contrite, Rogers. It's not your fault. The man you were watching has a long history of refusing simple requests and of taking stupid risks with his life." She pushed open the door and walked into the front entrance. "He also has a long history of exiting domiciles in unconventional ways. For example, by going out and over windows."

And Anna began inspecting every one of them, starting in the living room.

* * *

><p>Two men stood in the doorway, one holding a gun levelled at Robert's chest, the other holding a pair of handcuffs and a small but sturdy metal chair by its backrest. "Sit down," ordered the man with the gun. "Hands behind your back." Robert didn't see any option and so when the chair was set down in the centre of the room he did as he was told. He grudgingly brought his hands around to the back of the chair where, he was disappointed to note, they were carefully and securely handcuffed to the spindles of the backrest. He knew he wouldn't be able to escape from the cuffs. They were too tight.<p>

The two men left the room once their work was done.

"What was that about?" Robert shouted. "Was my pacing making you nervous?"

After a few minutes the door opened again and a man in an expensive-looking suit walked in. Robert was better at guessing ages than the time. Although fit and (Robert was pretty certain) what women considered extremely attractive, he was older, likely in his late seventies. His hair was white, his eyes pale blue. He seemed somehow familiar, though Robert was sure he'd never met the man before.

"You weren't making anyone nervous, Mr. Scorpio," the man said as he closed the door. "They were just preparing you for an audience with me. They had to ensure you wouldn't knock me over the head and try to escape." The man stood three feet from Robert's chair and smiled down at him coldly. "You see, I'm well aware of what you're capable of. I know everything about you. So please, allow me to introduce myself. I'm William Beaty."

That's when Robert realized the man's familiarity was in fact family resemblance.

* * *

><p>Anna was in the guest bedroom examining the line she'd discovered expertly anchored to and skilfully hidden on the underside of the large industrial window casement. "Well, it's a step up from the bloody grappling hook, Robert" she murmured as she stood again, having crouched to study his handiwork. The line exited the corner of the window and had been concealed by the curtain, explaining why Rogers hadn't noticed it during his first search.<p>

She stared out the window. "Should I be worried?" she asked out loud, of no one in particular.

Of course no one answered.

* * *

><p>Robert looked up warily at Elizabeth's father. "I'd shake your hand, Mr. Beaty, but I'm indisposed. To what do I owe the pleasure of having been kidnapped?"<p>

Beaty crossed his arms. "Blame it on parental concern. I'd like to know your intentions toward my daughter."

Robert narrowed his eyes. "I promise you they're perfectly honourable. I have absolutely no desire to sleep with her, sir. However, I would like to make her pay for her crimes. She's a murderer."

Beaty sighed. "And how many people have you killed in your life, Mr. Scorpio? A dozen? More? Twenty? Fifty?"

"How many have you killed, Mr. Beaty of Beaty-Morrisson?" Robert asked.

Beaty didn't flinch. "Thousands, Mr. Scorpio. Maybe hundreds of thousands. I manufacture weapons designed to bring about mass casualties. It's my particular talent, and, I think I can claim, my service to my country. The irony is that really I'm a peaceful man, not at all violent. It may surprise you, but I don't like killing individuals. It doesn't sit well with me. Psychologically there's a huge difference between killing or arranging to kill one person and knowing that your weapons have killed many. Although, of course, I recognize there shouldn't be." He walked closer to Robert, stared down at him. William Beaty was tall, well over six feet. "But I think you should be aware that I won't hesitate to kill _you_, Mr. Scorpio. You're a father. I'm sure you understand. We would do anything to protect our children, wouldn't we? I _will_ do anything to protect my child. Are we clear?"

This time it was Robert who didn't flinch.

* * *

><p>Anna dismissed Rogers and his partner stationed at the front door of the building. There was no point maintaining a watch now. The horse had already escaped, and not through the barn door.<p>

Before they left, Rogers asked, "Do you want us to put out an APB on Agent Scorpio, Commissioner?"

Anna thought for a moment and then shook her head. "No. He obviously went of his own volition. I'll just have to trust he'll return the same way, and soon."

The two men left. Anna shut the door to the apartment and leaned up against it, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Then she pulled out her cell phone, brought up Robert's number again, dialed. When the call went to voicemail, she said, "Robert, I know how you got out. I'm not angry. If I'm honest, I have to admit that I'm even a little impressed. All I ask is that you _please _call me and let me know you're okay. I'm not going to lie. I'm getting really concerned here."

She ended the call.

* * *

><p>Robert shifted in his seat. "So you don't want to kill me but you will – if I do <em>what<em>? Why exactly am I here?"

Beaty uncrossed his arms and began to walk around Robert's chair. "I'll kill you if you go after my daughter. Your life is conditional on Elizabeth's continuing completely unmolested. You don't track her, you don't try to collect evidence against her. You basically forget she exists and what you think she might have done. Your investigation stops here and now."

Robert decided to push his luck. "She's a menace. She could kill again. She has no conscience."

Beaty stopped directly behind Robert. "She could. She doesn't. I agree, Mr. Scorpio; I know my daughter better than you do. I know what she's capable of. And what she's incapable of. Her behaviour isn't a choice. She's been this way her entire life. My daughter can't feel or give love, can't understand the most basic principles governing human relationships. That's why she models her behaviour on that of others. She's _incapable _of being what we consider normal. Can I hold her responsible for actions she doesn't understand or accept are wrong? Can society? Is that justice?"

"So she continues, as you say, unmolested."

"Yes," Beaty replied. "But I didn't say uncontrolled. I don't approve of what she's done, obviously. But I have the means to manage, or at least contain, her behaviour. She may lack internal checks, but I have the ability to enforce external balances. I'll do it more for her protection than for others', but I will do it, I promise you."

Robert tried to twist in his chair to see Beaty. "I'm not sure I have much faith in your ability to control your daughter," he said. "Where were you when she hit me over the head and almost slit my throat?"

Beaty moved back into Robert's line of sight over his right shoulder. "That was an exceptional circumstance. You'd backed her into a corner. That kind of thing won't happen again."

"Your daughter seems easily threatened. She killed a pregnant woman to end a bizarre, self-imposed game of 'Simon Says'."

Beaty didn't immediately reply. Robert saw a passing shadow of conscience, of guilt cloud his face. "I had no way of knowing Elizabeth would do that. I only learned much later what she'd done."

"When she asked you to kill her husband."

"Who was blackmailing her."

Robert looked away from Beaty. "You're telling me to trust that you'll control your daughter. But who will control you?"

Beaty's expression was grim. "I couldn't protect Carolyn Thompson because I wasn't aware of the – seriousness of Elizabeth's problems. All I knew was that she was different. Awkward. Cold. Manipulative. I had no idea she was capable of murder. Once I realized what she'd done, I had her watched. I kept track of everyone she met, everyone she spoke to."

"Did you know she was speaking to me?"

"It's been _years_, Scorpio – years since the murder. And Elizabeth's life has been unremarkable. She hasn't been in a similar crisis. I relaxed my surveillance. I won't make that mistake again."

Robert was silent for a moment. "You want me to allow you to police your own daughter in exchange for my life?"

Beaty nodded. "In part. But I can sweeten the deal further. As I said earlier, we're both fathers. I'm certain we understand the lengths to which the other would go for his child. I'm in a position to offer you something I think you'll consider invaluable. I'm asking for my child in exchange for yours."

Robert felt his palms break out in a sweat. "That doesn't sound to me like a sweetened deal. That sounds more like a compounded threat. My daughter has nothing to do with this, Beaty. Even if you kill me, if you touch her, you and your daughter are dead. Robin's mother will see to that."

Beaty shook his head. "You misunderstand me, Scorpio. I'm not threatening your daughter Robin. You're right – she has nothing to do with this, and I would never involve her. The only life I'm threatening is your own. But I'm suggesting you may have added incentive to live, because in exchange for my daughter's freedom I'm offering to give you all the information I have about your other child."

* * *

><p>Anna sat in her armchair, a cup of tea cold and untouched on the side table. She was looking out at the water and waiting.<p>

* * *

><p>It took Robert a moment to process what Beaty had just said. When he <em>had<em> finally processed it, he spoke slowly. "I don't have another child," he corrected Beaty. "I have only one. My daughter, Robin."

Beaty came around and stood in front of Robert again. "So I was right. You were never told." Beaty crossed his arms again. "I took a calculated risk. I wasn't sure, but I didn't think you'd be the type to consciously abandon your own offspring."

Robert began to think frantically what Beaty might mean, the error he might have made. Could he believe that Lucas Jones was Robert's son? Was he thinking of Holly and Luke's son Ethan? Could another of the women Robert had been in relationships with have had a child Beaty incorrectly thought was his?

Or – could one of them possibly have had a child that _was_ his? Robert thought of Katherine. Might she have had his baby? It was possible. He began to feel an almost sick hope that Beaty was telling the truth and wasn't mistaken.

"What do you say, Scorpio?" Beaty asked. "All you have to do is agree to stay away from my daughter. Well away. For my part, I promise to have her closely monitored for the rest of her life, long after my death. I've learned my lesson. I'll make it my business to know exactly what she's up to – and to know exactly what you're up to. I'll know if you get anywhere near her again. She remains relatively free, and you get to keep on living. And on top of this I give you all the information I have about your lost child. You finally learn the truth."

Robert wondered, and felt something inside awaken at the same time as something else hardened, clicked over, switched off. He might have another daughter, a son. Did anything else really matter? Carolyn and her unborn child were long dead. Terrible things had happened and still happened all the time, and justice was never – or was excruciatingly slow in being – exacted. Robert thought of Faison, of Anna having to persuade him to take their revenge for everything that bastard had done to their family. Robert regretted making her beg. He regretted his sanctimoniousness. He wished they'd made Faison suffer more than he had. Cesar had gotten off lightly.

"I'm happy to let you handle your psychopathic daughter," Robert told Beaty. "You're welcome to deal with her problems in whatever way you can. But only if the information you've promised me rings true. If it turns out to be some kind of sick ruse, our deal is off. The deal is your child for my child. But you need to persuade me that you actually have something to offer. Because I don't believe you do."

Beaty nodded. "Fair enough. I'm confident what I have is sufficient to buy my daughter's freedom." He walked to the door, opened it, made a signal to someone outside. A briefcase was handed over. Beaty shut the door again. He opened the case and took out a fat file in a manila folder. He placed it on the floor a few feet to the right of Robert's chair. Then Beaty retrieved a key from the briefcase and showed it to Robert. "I'm going to put this in your hand. Wait five minutes and then open your handcuffs. Don't drop the key," he warned; "if you do, no one will find you for days, maybe even weeks. This building is abandoned. I think you'll find the content of the file effectively binds you to our agreement. If you then choose not to honour it, of course, you're a dead man."

Robert felt emboldened – either that or he no longer cared at all about Elizabeth and her father. "I want my watch back. It was my father's. You can keep my gun and my phone."

Beaty looked up at the camera, made a gesture. The door opened, and the man who had handcuffed Robert to the chair came in. He gave Beaty the watch and left again. Beaty put the watch on top of the file, then went around to Robert's back and placed the key in his right hand.

"My child for your child, Scorpio. A fair exchange, I think."

Beaty opened the door. Just before he left, he turned and told Robert, "Give the watch to your son. When and if you find him."

And he was gone.

Robert's heart was pounding in his chest, in his throat. His son.

He waited until he was sure more than five minutes had passed and began very carefully manipulating the key, trying to connect it with the lock, to work it into the mechanism without dropping it on the floor. The angle was difficult; his wrist had to contort strangely and painfully, but he finally managed to spring the lock. He freed one hand, then the other, and threw the cuffs into the corner of the room. They fell with a clatter.

Robert walked up to the file, crouched down. He picked up his watch and slowly buckled it onto his wrist again, taking more time than he needed, anxious and afraid to turn his attention to the stack of paper. Once finished, he stared down at the manila folder. No writing marked the outside but the paper was scuffed and looked decades old. Robert reached out his hand and opened the cover to the first sheet.

There he saw "Anna Emmaline Devane" neatly printed in the same typescript he'd seen not long ago on the first page of his own file.

It was Anna's missing dossier, the file Elizabeth had threatened Robert with. He was confused.

He stared at the first page for a long time before he finally had the courage to turn it over.


	32. Chapter 32

Robert had forgotten how young Anna had been when he first met her. She'd seemed older than he, more mature anyway. But she had been just nineteen, and already two years with the WSB. It seemed unconscionable that she'd been recruited at the tender age of seventeen. Robert was still flipping through the first sheets in the file, the records of her first days with the Bureau, her training, her early assignments, her early successes and failures. Robert didn't dwell on these. He felt almost as if he were trespassing in her past, in the time before he knew her.

He flipped over a thick bundle of papers to progress forward in time. He saw familiar writing – O'Reilly's neat, slightly backward hand. Her evaluation of Anna, unlike her evaluation of Robert, was positively glowing. Apparently Anna lacked Robert's complete and unassailable sense of right and wrong, his clear distinction between black and white, his moral highhandedness; O'Reilly had concluded Anna would, therefore, make an excellent, highly adaptable operative. And an excellent, highly adaptable double agent, Robert thought archly, a bit hurt by what seemed almost a betrayal by his former partner and beloved mentor. Water under the bridge, he told himself, and turned over another bundle of sheets.

Another evaluation: Shaun Donely's. Here he noted Anna Devane's apparent lack of _comraderie_, her strange social isolation. She was polite and businesslike with her partners but made no friends. Shaun wasn't sure if this disconnection was something to worry about or a huge professional advantage, something that the Bureau could exploit. She might not risk her own neck to save someone else's, but, a lone wolf, she wouldn't and couldn't be manipulated or blackmailed. Or so Shaun thought. Then she'd met Robert and been controlled by the DVX with the threat of his execution. Robert couldn't imagine the Anna described in the early pages of her file. The Anna he knew and had known most of his life was fiercely loving and fiercely loyal. Higher principles be damned – she would die and kill for those she cared about, for those who were vulnerable, for those who needed her help. God knew she had given up everything for him and for their daughter. She had repeatedly and without hesitation sacrificed much.

More sheets in: their first case together. Robert didn't even skim these pages, didn't want to know what Shaun had thought of his work. Anna had basically rescued the hostage single handedly; Robert had been too preoccupied trying not to fall head-over-heels in love, trying not to notice how incredibly intelligent and beautiful she was, how much he wanted their feigned intimacy (they had posed as newlyweds, for God's sake) to be real.

Frustrated, he flipped a thick bundle of sheets over and saw the date "1993" on the top of the paper. The note underneath read simply "Still no intel on location. Case file remains open. Black box order remains in effect. Target is to be killed on sight."

Why had they wanted her dead so badly, Robert wondered, a full year after Faison had allegedly died and when Robert was already safely back in their fold?

There had to be an answer somewhere earlier in the file. Robert flipped back, almost having forgotten Beaty's promise of a lost child.

* * *

><p>Anna, still in the armchair, had fallen into an unsettled sleep. In her dream she was on the water. She could feel the floor beneath her swaying and rolling gently. She felt as though perhaps she had been drugged, couldn't open her eyes. She heard voices in the distance, maybe in the next room, maybe just above her – she couldn't tell. She heard Cesar's voice clearly. "That wasn't part of the deal," he was saying loudly, over and over. "I don't accept those terms. That wasn't our deal."<p>

Another voice, an unfamiliar voice. A man's. "Take it or leave it, Faison," it said. "We can kill her right now. Or you can accept our offer. We can't afford the risk if she gets away from you. She's an ex-agent. She'll figure out our arrangement. And so might the DVX, especially if they get hold of her. As long as she's with you, she'll be protected. If she escapes, and it becomes obvious she didn't join you of her own free will, she's dead."

Silence. Then Cesar again: "That wasn't our deal. If she escapes and you kill her, I'm out, and you're a dead man."

* * *

><p>Robert had backtracked in the file to 1991 – Anna's investigation of the Cartel. He found transcripts of Anna's communications with the Bureau consisting largely of intel on Faison and Taub. Interspersed with these documents he found other records of other conversations. Robert paused when he saw the first of what he noted were many. They recorded repeated conversations between a WSB agent named Zarniki – why did that sound familiar, Robert wondered? – and Cesar Faison, this when Anna was trying to collect enough evidence for the WSB to prosecute him and lock him away.<p>

Robert skimmed quickly. He was horrified by what he read.

Zarniki telling Faison that Barrett and Taub had been compromised, Zarniki telling Faison what Anna had learned. Zarniki making repeated references to an offer, something apparently unrecorded, that Faison could still accept. Faison hesitating, worrying about the repercussions, worrying that someone –who? –would find out about the deal. Worried for his life.

Robert flipped forward in the file.

* * *

><p>The dream shifted. Now her eyes were open. She was lying on a leather settee, her feet elevated on a pillow. Cesar was seated next to her, holding her hand. She wanted to pull it away but he was looking at her strangely. She willed herself not to recoil.<p>

"My darling Anna," he was saying. "You fainted. Again. You've been so light-headed lately."

Anna felt herself speaking, slurring. "I'm fine, Cesar. You needn't be concerned."

Cesar stroked the back of her hand. Anna felt the skin on the back of her neck crawl in response. "I realize that now. And I realize how stupidly blind I've been. You're not seasick; you're not unwell. I finally understand. You know, I could file a grievance. After all, this wasn't part of the original transaction."

Anna felt her stomach flip. "_I_ shouldn't have been part of any transaction, Cesar. I made no deal with you or with the Bureau."

He closed his eyes and smiled. "My love, there was no other way for us to be together. You've been so difficult to persuade. I could complain. I could speak to our superiors. I could require that they deal with this – complication – before I fulfill my part of the bargain. All it would take is a series of pills, a small procedure. It wouldn't hurt. And I could insist."

Anna tried to gauge her strength, to determine whether she had enough physical power to best Faison. She doubted she could take him. She felt too ill, too weak.

"But I won't," he continued after a dramatic pause. "Because I know how much it would distress you."

He bent down until his face was level with hers. His smile disappeared. "I want you to know I'll love it as if it were my own. I'll love it because it's yours and despite the fact that it's his. The fact that you're its mother will be sufficient for me. I promise the child won't suffer for the sins of its father. And when Robin finally joins us, we'll be a family together."

* * *

><p>Robert found more transcripts, more discussions in veiled terms of offers and deals. He deduced quite quickly what the WSB had wanted from Faison. They'd wanted him to re-establish ties with the DVX and become a double agent. In return they'd offered him freedom. And something else, something unspecified but apparently understood by both parties. Faison was obviously tempted, but afraid.<p>

And then, at the end of a transcribed conversation held after Faison's arrest, during an interview in his cell, Faison had finally agreed to the terms he'd been offered over and over.

"Welcome to the organization, Mr. Faison," Zarniki was recorded saying.

"I don't care about your organization," Faison had replied. "All I want is what you've promised me. When will I be freed?"

"Very soon," Zarniki had promised. "Just let me make a few final arrangements."

Robert thought back to the phone call he'd received from the WSB in 1991 informing him that Faison was no longer in custody. Taub and Faison had tried to escape, Robert was told; Taub had been killed in the attempt while Faison had succeeded. Robert briefly wondered if Taub had, in fact, never really died but decided quickly no, he'd been killed to cover deal the WSB had struck with Faison. Robert had been fooled. He'd never suspected a double-cross.

"And when will I get my payment?" Faison had asked.

"In a few weeks," was Zarniki's reply. "We'll contact you when we need you to make contact and set the groundwork. We'll explain exactly what you're to say and do. We'll use you as bait. Then we'll make all the arrangements. Just leave it to us. We should have her ready for delivery within the month."

* * *

><p>Anna was wide awake in the chair. That hadn't been a dream. That had been a memory. She was remembering more.<p>

Robert, come home to me, she thought. I need you.

* * *

><p>They would have "her" ready for delivery within the month. I could only mean one thing.<p>

The information in Robert's own file – the Bureau's suspicion that Anna was a double agent, that she'd been Faison's lover and accomplice, that she'd left with him willingly – was in fact a cover, a fiction fed to Robert and all other agents not directly involved in Zarniki's operation. The extent of the WSB's betrayal of him and of Anna suddenly became clear. While she'd been working so tirelessly with and for them to put Cesar Faison away, the WSB had been working against her, all-the-while intending to free him, brokering a deal in which she was payment and reward. They had promised and given Anna to Cesar Faison in exchange for future intelligence and espionage. Even worse, they'd considered her completely expendable. All of this had happened on Robert's watch. And he had dutifully gone back to work for the Bureau after they'd betrayed him and his wife. He felt sick.

Robert decided that when this was over he would find out what had happened to Agent Zarniki. If he was still alive, Robert thought, he would kill him. As William Beaty had pointed out, Robert had killed before, and for lesser crimes. And when Zarniki was dead, Robert would go after his own handler, Agent Carlton. After twenty-three years they would finally pay for what they'd done.

More pages in, he learned that Zarniki's first name was "Clement." Robert would remember that. Zarniki had scripted Faison's video to Anna, their conversations, his veiled threats against Robert and Robin, encouraging Anna's secrecy, encouraging her mistaken belief that Cesar could be controlled. Faison hadn't even been in the country when Anna was taken, by Zarniki and five unnamed accomplices. Robert was satisfied to read that every man was needed to take her down; she'd fought tooth and nail and had wounded two of the men enough that they'd needed medical attention. She'd had to be drugged for transport to Faison's boat.

For a while, the documents in Anna's file merely noted their changing locations: Halifax, down the eastern seaboard, to various ports in the Caribbean. Then, alarmed notices of Robert's disappearance from Port Charles, information about his movements, and warnings issued at regular intervals to Faison. A directive from the head of the WSB that Cesar Faison's deal with the Bureau must not be compromised. A black box order was issued against Robert (he'd seen the same notice in his own file).

Then a surprisingly brief description of the explosion: no suggestion who or what was responsible. After, a short, succinct summary of the state of affairs and a clear, concise order. "Operation Nero compromised. Full clean-up required."

The WSB hadn't anticipated the explosion. Faison had surprised them with his homicide / suicide attempt, though they'd appreciated his character, his instability enough to name his file after the most unstable "Caesar" of all.

Of course only two of the three people on the speedboat had been recovered. The file noted that Cesar Faison's body had not been found despite a careful search of the area.

* * *

><p>She was awake when the next memory flared into consciousness. Cesar had tried to kiss her. She'd turned her head, looked off into the corner of the room, waited for him to respond to her rejection, to grab her, to hit her, to scream at her. But he'd done none of those things. She'd waited, her breathing shallow. After a short time he'd simply walked away.<p>

His lack of reaction terrified her.

* * *

><p>Robert was still crouched on the linoleum floor of his basement prison. The door, he was sure, was unlocked, but he continued working through Anna's file. He next found her medical records, a list of the damage inflicted by the explosion. There was a photograph. Her eyes were black and swollen shut; her lip was cut. On one side her hair had burned. Robert carefully traced the line of her jaw with his finger. His hand was shaking. Her cheek line wasn't symmetrical.<p>

The medical report was a horrifying miscellany of injuries. A broken jaw, a broken nose. Second degree burns to her hands and to her lower legs. A bruised spleen. A severe concussion. When she was first found she'd been conscious but quickly slipped into a light coma, in which she remained for days. When she'd finally opened her eyes again, she hadn't spoken, hadn't responded to questions, hadn't responded to speech. The doctors realized something was badly wrong.

So why hadn't they just killed her? Why was she kept alive? Had they let her live because they'd thought she was brain-damaged and so no longer a threat? Somehow it didn't seem enough, didn't ring true.

Robert flipped through the next few pages of the file, which consisted mainly of lists of medical test results, blood counts and blood workups he couldn't understand. But on the final page, the very last item he read was clear even to him, its sense and import unambiguous.

Anna had been pregnant.

Robert dropped the paper as though he'd been burned.

* * *

><p>"Why can't you love me, Anna?" Cesar looked at her over the table. They were eating dinner.<p>

Anna had been forcing herself to eat for the sake of the child. She put down her knife and fork, and looked back at Cesar. Her expression was blank. "Because I love _him_. I always have. I always will. Why can't you understand that, Cesar?"

Faison said nothing in reply, just looked at her without obvious emotion, perhaps without comprehension.

After a moment, she picked up her cutlery and resumed eating, taking tiny bites, swallowing with effort, chasing every mouthful with sips of water, willing it to stay down as the boat rolled endlessly on.

* * *

><p>Robert's mind was racing, his hands sweating. She'd been pregnant. Robert flipped forward in the file. The black box order had been postponed until the baby was delivered. The cryptic reference in his own file now made perfect sense.<p>

They'd postponed killing Anna until the child was born. But why? The WSB had no more conscience than Elizabeth Beaty; as an institution, it was equally socio-pathic, equally psychopathic. Zarniki wouldn't have balked at executing a pregnant woman. The Bureau must have wanted the baby for some sick reason. They obviously considered Anna completely dispensable. They'd treated her before as a prize, as a payment to entice Faison; they'd then used her as an incubator, had regarded her as little more. They'd kept her alive - unconscious, neglected, her brain injury untreated - for months. But what use could the baby have been to them?

* * *

><p>The vomiting finally stopped. The muscles in Anna's stomach were still in spasm, and her breath was still hitching, but gradually, gradually her body calmed. She felt the cool porcelain of the toilet under her hands as she leaned back. The room stopped spinning. I can't do this, Robert, she thought. I can't do this alone. I'm too weak to get away. I need your help. Please help me.<p>

But whatever you do, don't trust the Bureau. Don't ask for its help.

* * *

><p>Robert suspected he'd found the answer when read the OBGYN's medical evaluation. Because the hospital was poorly equipped, Anna's doctor hadn't been able to date the pregnancy accurately. Her blood work had been inconclusive, and the hospital's ultrasound equipment hadn't worked for months. The doctor's estimate for conception was broad and spanned dates before and after Anna's kidnapping.

Robert flipped back to the photograph of Anna wounded, beaten, broken. And pregnant. Robert now understood what Elizabeth had meant when she'd told him Anna had suffered. Anna hadn't left him. She'd fought to stay with him and their daughter. She'd been victimized by the Bureau while Robert, ignorant of the threat it posed, handed Taub and Faison over to the WSB, and then, to compound his guilt, suspected Anna, the betrayed, of betrayal. God only knew what had happened to her while she was on the boat. God only knew what Faison had done to her while he'd held her captive - or what she'd been forced to do to stay alive.

Robert thought back to the moment months earlier when, after years of cowardice and fear, he'd finally summoned the courage to ask Anna the question that had haunted him since she'd disappeared. She'd told him she hadn't been pregnant when she was kidnapped.

But she was pregnant in the hospital room in Venezuela, where the Bureau allowed her to languish.

Obviously Beaty had read the file too superficially. There was only one logical explanation for the Bureau's strange behaviour: it had suspected Anna's child might have been fathered by Cesar Faison. They hadn't found his body. They knew he might not have died, might in fact be alive. And they still wanted his cooperation. Initially they'd rescued Anna thinking she was the key to manipulating Faison. When they'd realized she was pregnant, they must have been delighted, must have known they could use threats to his child even more effectively than threats to or promises of Anna, his grand, obsessive love.

Cesar's child – and Anna's.

* * *

><p>She was again staring out the window of her apartment. I can't do this alone, Robert, she was thinking again. I need your help. Please come back. Please help me.<p>

She remembered the Christmas before everything had ended. She remembered trimming the tree, making the dinner, putting Christmas ornaments in her earrings, laughing, making love with her husband. She remembered being happy – finally being happy, finally feeling whole. And then suddenly everything had ended. Everything was taken from her and she'd been alone.

* * *

><p>Five months later the child had been born. Despite the injuries to Anna's body, she'd carried it to term. A baby boy.<p>

Robert stared at the tiny footprints inked on the page. Anna's son.

Robert wondered if he could love the child because he was hers. He feared he might hate him because he was Faison's.

But Robert's feelings didn't matter. Anna had to be told. And the child – no longer a child – had to be found.

Robert put the papers back in the file, stood, and finally tried the door. It was unlocked.


	33. Chapter 33

Thanks to everyone who's followed this story to the end and been so encouraging in their reviews! It's been a really fun project and an excellent learning experience. I love these characters.

The story wraps up here. I'm taking a bit of a break but might be back in the fall with the next installment (if I feel inspired).

* * *

><p>When Robert returned, he found Anna curled in her chair. It was late; she'd fallen asleep. He'd been careful to be quiet as he entered the apartment, though he wasn't sure why, and he hadn't woken her. He knew she'd been worried about him – he knew she'd likely been frantic. He felt another wave of guilt wash through his body.<p>

He sat on the sofa and looked at her. Her breathing was deep and relaxed. She seemed so tired. He wondered if she'd sleep better or worse once he'd told her she hadn't been dreaming about Robin, about her baby daughter, but about her baby son. A son who would now be twenty-two. A son she'd never been given the chance to know.

He'd let her rest a bit longer. He needed to think, needed a shower after everything he'd learned, every foul and distasteful detail he'd read in the file. He tread softly down the hallway to their bedroom.

Undressing wasn't easy. The shoulder struck by the electrode had started to seize up. He gingerly unbuttoned his shirt. His face strained and he let out an involuntary gasp of pain as he brought his arm back and the fabric rounded over his right shoulder and slipped down his arm. He turned on the water, unbuckled his belt, and with his good arm pushed down his jeans, stepped out of them, stepped into the shower, closed the door. The hot water felt good. Maybe it would wash him clean.

He shut his eyes and let it hit his face, then his chest. He turned around and the water struck his back, ran down his legs. He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there before he heard the shower door click open and he felt Anna's hands wrap up around to his chest, her arms at his sides, her cheek pressed against his shoulder blade. They stood like that for a moment. Then he turned around. She'd stepped into the shower fully dressed; water had soaked the back of her shirt, was cascading through her hair and down her face. Mascara started to run down her cheeks as she looked up at his face, then at his shoulder. She gently touched the edge of the bruise where he'd been hit, then the raised wound where the electrode had punctured. She looked up again, her eyes a question he didn't want to answer, at least not yet. He leaned down, kissed her upturned face, raised his hands first to stroke her hair, and after lowered them to the buttons of her shirt, now soaked and heavy. He fumbled with the buttons; she lifted her hands to help him. The wet fabric clung to her body, resisting; they struggled together to free her from her blouse, her skirt. With effort, Anna was finally naked, her clothes tossed out onto the bathroom floor, a pool of water spreading slowly out across the tile and collecting in the corners of the room. Robert pressed her to him, couldn't get close enough to her, even when he was inside her. "I'm sorry," he told her again and again, whispering it in her ear as he made love to her.

He knew what she likely thought – that he was apologizing for leaving that morning and not telling her where he'd gone. She'd soon know better.

* * *

><p>They lay in bed after, the sheets wet. Anna's hair fanned out on her pillow; her eyes, rimmed with remnants of black makeup, looked hollow, haunted. She was the first to speak. "I was so frightened you weren't coming back."<p>

Robert felt ashamed. "I'm sorry."

"You already said that," she told him. "Don't say it again. I believe you."

After a pause, she asked, "Where were you? Why didn't you answer my calls?"

Robert sat up. "We're safe now. I made a deal. We don't have to worry about Elizabeth Beaty anymore."

"Why not?"

Robert looked at her, reached out his hand and pushed a strand of wet hair from Anna's eyes. "You'd better get dressed, Luv. We have to talk."

* * *

><p>Anna put on the first things she could find – sweat pants and one of Robert's t-shirts, draped across a chair. It wasn't clean, smelled of him. She walked into the bathroom, picked up her wet clothes, wrung them out, hung them to dry.<p>

When she came back into the bedroom, Robert had already left. She padded off after him, almost drunk with relief that he was there, that he was home again. She found him in the living room sitting on the couch. She noticed a file of papers on the coffee table in front of him. He gestured for her to sit beside him. She did.

She looked at the file. "Is that what I think it is?"

He paused for a moment, then sighed. "Yes."

"Have you read it?" she asked.

"Not all of it," he answered, "but enough."

"Did you make a deal with Elizabeth for it? Were you with her? What did you have to do to get it, Robert?"

"I had to give responsibility for her over to someone else, someone who promised to control her. I swear to you, she's out of our lives."

Anna looked into his eyes. "What about Carolyn Thompson? What about her child?"

Robert looked away. "A lot of crimes go unpunished, Anna."

Anna touched his arm. "What will you tell her husband?"

Robert shook his head. "I don't know. A lie. A partial truth. Whatever will give him some peace."

Anna stared down at the file. "This isn't like you, Robert. What in god's name is in that file? Is it worth the moral compromise?"

Robert took her hands. "Yes. Yes, it is. Because I've finally realized that love is worth moral compromise. That's a lesson it's taken me my whole life to learn. I could have learned it from you thirty-six years ago if I'd been willing, if I'd been less self-righteous, if I'd pressed you to tell me why you'd agreed to give those secrets to the DVX in the Paris shipyard – and if I'd accepted that sometimes we need to sacrifice not our lives but our morals for the people we care about."

Anna was still looking at the file. "But Robert, you did. You lied to save my life; you kept my betrayal a secret."

"And I hated myself for it. Worse, I was angry with you for lying to save my life. I was wrong. All that hate, all that anger – it was such a waste."

Anna paused, then reached out a hand and opened the file.

* * *

><p>He sat beside her while she read, saying nothing, just wanting to be supportive, to be near. She spent more time reading through the record of her early years with the Bureau than he had. He fought the urge to move her along, to encourage her to skip ahead in time. He needed to be patient. She needed to do this at her own pace. He waited.<p>

When she reached the section of the file containing the truth about her kidnapping, she put it down, unable to continue. Robert put his hand on her back. She said nothing. He got up, poured her a glass of red wine, set it down on the table for her. After a time she picked it up and drank deeply, then took up the file again. She continued reading.

The explosion. The medical report.

The positive pregnancy test.

Anna stared at the file. She spoke for the first time. "I didn't lose it."

Robert started. "You remember being pregnant?"

Anna's shoulders slumped. The file rested in her lap. "I remember. I thought I'd lost it. I thought the explosion had taken the baby along with my memories."

Robert took her hand again. "How long have you remembered?"

Anna shook her head. "Not long. And when I first remembered I thought it couldn't be true. I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. I didn't know for sure."

Robert reached out, took the file from her, and found the birth record. He placed it in her hands. "You had a son, Luv."

Anna touched the tiny, faded footprint.

Robert continued. "I want to help you find him. But only if that's something you want. I'm not sure – I'm not sure how you feel about it. If you think finding him would bring up memories you'd rather forget, memories of your time with Faison, I understand." Robert went quiet.

Anna understood what he thought and why.

She took a deep breath. "You've just said you'll tell Carolyn's husband a lie, a partial truth. Whatever will give him peace."

Robert looked at her strangely. "Yes. Why tell him that Elizabeth murdered her, that she murdered their child? He can't do anything about it. He'd be risking his own life if he tried. Her father would have him killed."

Anna still stared at the small footprint. "You've said you've finally realized that a lie, a betrayal, can sometimes be a moral thing, can be right."

This time he said nothing.

"I need to ask for your forgiveness again," she told him, her expression unreadable. "I desperately need you to give it. And I need you to believe I only ever wanted to protect you, to give you some peace. Because I felt there was nothing to be done."

She looked into his eyes.

"I told you another lie, Robert, because I love you. But now I need to tell you the truth. _I_ didn't have a son. _We_ did."


End file.
